Carried away by a Moonlight Shadow
by me.fergie
Summary: Jim has reached the top, and the only thing that can keep him remotely entertained is his game with Sherlock. Watch as he slowly crosses the line to madness, while his sniper and his secretary can't do anything but assure his surviving and, in the end, his victory.
1. Would you come to talk to me this night?

**Back from holidays and ready to give you guys a good time.  
**

**DISCLAIMER:  
**As usually, I own nothing but my OFCs Sorcha and Gloria (yes, she will be back). Sherlock Holmes belongs to ACD, Sherlock to the BBC. The songs I use belong to the respective artists. I am not making any profit, so don't sue me.

This is the series from the point of view of Jim and his people.

**Title of the fic and this prologue: **taken from Mike Oldfield's _Moonlight Shadow._

* * *

**Prologue: Would you come to talk to me this night? **

He could hear her retching when he opened the front door. Retching and coughing. For a second he thought that she already knew what had happened, that somehow one of Jim's men had told her that Jim was dead, and that he wouldn't have to be the one to break the terrible news to her. Sebastian Moran was an optimist.

But when he put his rifle down next to the couch, he knew something else had made his sister sick. One of Jim's silk handkerchiefs was lying next to the couch, and as Sebastian picked it up, he noticed the smell of chloroform, faint, but still present, and traces of lipstick. So this bastard had drugged her. Of course, after that incident at the pool (fourteen months ago… time had been ticking away so fast…), it was clear that Jim hadn't trusted Sorcha anymore, and that he couldn't have risked her going after him this time. Oh God… she had no idea what he had done….

Sebastian braced himself for the screaming that would await him once he had told her and was just about to open the bathroom door when it was pushed open from the other side violently and something in-between his sister and Mozart's Queen Of The Night dashed out, fury painted in vivid colours on her face.

"You fucking mor… Oh, Bastian. I thought it was Jim." She looked awful. Eyes rimmed with red, lips swollen, pale, hair matted to her head with sweat. "This son of a bitch knocked me out. He knows exactly that I can't stomach chloroform. He has like a million different drugs at his disposal, all of which I can handle much better, but no…" She leaned against the doorframe; apparently the effort had exhausted her. "Where is he, by the way? Prancing through his town?"

"Sorcha…" No, he couldn't. Despite all her rambling, she loved him. And now he was dead. Jim Moriarty, the greatest criminal mind on this whole goddamn planet. Dead. And he, Sebastian Moran, was supposed to tell her she would never see him again. Because he didn't have a body. They couldn't even bury him. "I…" He could see the exact moment when she understood, just like he had seen the exact moment when Jim had realized his plan had failed. Jim had smiled, somehow. But the look on his sister's face was nothing but pain. "I am so sorry, Sorcha."

"He is dead?" Her voice quavered. "Sherlock killed him?"

_This is getting worse by the second. _"No… he… He talked to Sherlock and then…" Sebastian noticed his own voice breaking as he recounted the last seconds of Jim Moriarty's life. Good lord, when had he become so attached?

"Why?"

_How would I know?_ "I think Sherlock discovered a flaw in his plan… Sorcha, he almost had him. Sherlock was already standing at the edge, looking down. And then he turned back to Jim… I saw them discussing… and suddenly I knew what was going to happen, and I tried, really, I ran, but I was too late…" He breathed in, breathed out. "When I got to the roof, Sherlock had jumped; I saw Watson down on the street, shaking."

"How did he do it…?"

"Sorcha, stop doing…"

"How?"

He shook his head. "I heard a gunshot. He shot himself."

"Oh God…" She had to steady herself against Jim's desk. "He shot… Christ…"

"Sorcha, I am so sorry…"

"Where is he now?" Her voice softened. "I want to see him…"

"I didn't find the body…"

"You didn't… but, but, Seb, maybe…"

He knew what she wanted to say. _Maybe he's still alive, then. _"Sorcha, when I left, there were only two people on the roof. Jim and Sherlock. And Sherlock jumped. And there was… there was a lot of blood and…. brain… and… He has to be dead. Not even he could survive a gun to the head."

She swallowed. Sebastian almost expected her to run back to the bathroom and getting sick again; blood and brain matter did that to the ordinary people. But then again, his sister had been living with Jim and him long enough so that blood couldn't possibly bother her. She swallowed again before she said, "I need to go to work."

"What? Sorcha, listen, you're not…"

"No, Sebastian, you listen. I need to get my hands on the surveillance tape. I need to see what exactly happened." Her voice was a whisper by now. "I don't want Mycroft Holmes to get his hands on him. We will never have a place to mourn him if Mycroft… he humiliated him while he was alive, Sebastian. Remember how much… We cannot let him degrade him again now."

She could have stabbed him right in the heart, and it wouldn't have made a difference to Sebastian. Yes, he did remember. He had not been there when Jim had gotten back, but living with him, he had noticed the difference, had seen the scars… "You're right. Let's get back to work."

Sebastian Moran was a soldier, used to follow orders. And for a second he thought he had heard Jim's voice in his ear, giving him one clear order:

_Go on._

* * *

_Btw, I am looking for a beta.  
_


	2. There's so much power in my name

**Disclaimer: see Prologue. Title of this chapter taken from Rihanna's ****  
**

* * *

**Chapter One: There's so much power in my name**

It was early in the morning, and the sun was just rising when Jim Moriarty flipped his laptop shut. He had worked all night, and still wasn't tired in the least. He had just gotten news that Hope had survived another night. The man was gold; Jim couldn't understand why a man with Hope's skills never went to university. He was very intelligent, knew the city like the back of his hand, and, which was probably the most important thing, could read people. Of course, driving a cab did that to you; you just had to read people if you valued your life. Hope was just perfect. He knew exactly how to play people, how to get them to choose the poisoned pill. It was fascinating watching him work, Sorcha had said. Of course, she had to know: she was probably watching the man during her nightshifts. It paid out to have somebody in your team with access to all the CCTV cameras in the city.

Jim raised his head when his mobile beeped. Text from Sorcha.

_Press conference later today. About the suicides. Heard the Ice Man talking about it. Want me to go? – Sorcha_

Jim grinned. Apparently Scotland Yard was at its wits' end. Time to involve the press.

_If you can make it. –JM_

The answer was almost immediate.

_Mycroft says he wants somebody there. I've been dealing with the press lately, so I'm sure if I'll ask him he'll say yes. – Sorcha_

Jim put his phone away. While Sorcha was not high up in the Government's food chain, she was eager enough to be noticed by Mycroft Holmes. Her asking him if she could go to the conference would not raise any suspicions. And Jim was sure it would be very informative.

* * *

It proved to be. When Sorcha got home later that evening, she put her phone on his desk without another word. Jim glanced at it. "_Wrong. _What do you want to tell me?"

"That was Sherlock?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. I talked to DI Lestrade, and he let slip that this is Sherlock's number. And even more… He thinks of involving Sherlock should another person die…"

Jim grinned, "He does. Well, I guess then I should get Hope to work some overtime tonight. You call him?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Tell him to make it something special this night. And I repeat, _this_ night. If I like his choice, he'll get some extra quid. Let him know I want someone very special because I want to attract someone very special. Sherlock Holmes. The faster he's involved, the more Hope will earn."

Sorcha nodded and picked up her phone, "Consider it done." She dialled, "Mr Hope. It's I. Mr Moriarty is very satisfied with your work so far. He would love you to work tonight… Very good. Listen though, Mr Moriarty wants to attract a certain man. Make sure your victim tonight is going to be good enough to make Scotland Yard come to him. To Sherlock Holmes." She paused. "Very good. We'll wait for news." She hung up and turned to Jim. "He'll be in touch."

Jim nodded, "Very good. Where is your brother?"

"Probably watching Hope…"

_You've been hit by, you've been struck by a smooth criminal…_

She glanced at her phone. "The government."

"Himself?"

"No, the institution." She picked up. "Jenny Miller? Yes. What, tonight? Okay. Yeah, I'll come back. Soon, yeah." She threw her phone on the couch. "Mycroft's lapdog. She wants me to go back and research some guy."

"Who?"

"John Watson. Name sounds familiar?"

"It does to me…" Sebastian had just entered the flat. "Army doctor. Was in Afghanistan."

"Why are you not out there watching Hope?" Jim asked.

"He's home, getting some sleep. So I thought I could do the same. What about Watson?"

"Apparently Mycroft wants me to do some research on the guy. Lord knows why. I'll better get going. I see you around if I ever get time off." She made a grimace and left.

Sebastian turned to Jim, "Does this have anything to do with us? Watson?"

Jim shook his head, "Nope. Not so far. Or at least not that I know off. Sorcha will tell us if it does. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing special. Just curious. If you want to involve my army brothers…"

"Don't worry, Sebbie, you'll still be my favourite soldier boy." Jim got up. "I've got some work waiting for me. I want you to watch Hope again tonight. He promised he would make it special. We want to attract Sherlock tonight."

"No, _you_ want. I don't want to be anywhere close to Sherlock or his shit-head of a brother." There was unveiled hatred in Sebastian's eyes.

Jim rolled his as an answer, "Don't be jealous. I just want to have some fun. It's been boring these last… years. This is the most fun I've had in ages."

"You know I am just worried. About Sorcha. My sister doesn't belong in jail."

"Please, Sebastian, nothing will happen to us. This is just Sherlock Holmes. He might be brilliant, but he's still no match to me. But great to see you're not worried about me."

Sebastian smiled a faint smile, "We have it coming, you and I. I should have been jailed a long time ago, and so should you. Besides, no one dares to touch you."

"And no one would dare to touch my men, Sebastian, you should know that by now. Don't worry. This is just a little game I'll play. Now I apologize, but I have to organize the import of some Chinese teapots. Or tea cups. I don't know."

"You don't know?" Sebastian frowned, "Jim, you always know what people are doing. Are you sure this whole Sherlock thing is healthy? If you keep forgetting things…"

"I didn't forget it, I just don't care much. And now leave. Go and… I don't know, grab a girl. And watch Hope for me."

"Will do, sir…" Sebastian got up.

* * *

It was late at night when the text came.

_John Hamish Watson. Army Doctor. Invalided. Shot to the shoulder. PTSD. Limping. Current address: 221B Baker Street. Mycroft will meet him tomorrow. –Sorcha_

Jim's hand clenched around his phone.

_He's moving in with Sherlock? –JM_

_Yes, by the looks of it. Speaking of, Sebastian just told me that Hope survived his night. And the victim practically screams _Get Sherlock. _Any orders? –Sorcha_

Jim thought about it before he typed.

_Try and find out what the Iceman and Watson are talking about. Watch where they meet. I want a detailed account of their meeting. And then watch Watson for me. –JM_

_Yes, sir. Take care. –Sorcha_

Jim smiled; a new chess piece in the game. John Watson. And Sherlock Holmes. Maybe they were just flatmates. But Sherlock was like he, like Jim, and Jim knew better than anybody else that everybody needed someone to do the dirty work. He had Sebastian. Would John Watson be the Sebastian to Sherlock? It remained to be seen.

But the whole game just got even more exiting.

* * *

Thanks for your reviews. Keep em coming.


	3. You and me together, nothing is better

**Time for some bromance.  
**

**Disclaimer: see prologue. Chapter title from Adele's _Set fire to the rain_  
**

* * *

**Chapter Two: You and me together, nothing is better**

Sebastian opened the door without knocking. Not because he was generally impolite, but because he was really upset. And Sebastian Moran was not easy to upset.

Which was why Jim, even though he had just taken a shower and therefore was naked, refrained himself from shouting at his best man, "Sebastian, dear. You should have called; I would have shaved."

Sebastian hesitated for an instant, "This might not be the moment…"

"Oh please, I am completely comfortable. I know you like girls _and _guys, but let me tell you, your sister will kill you if we do this… On the other hand, how about I get myself a towel while you tell me why you barge in here like a god damn SWAT Team?"

"That would be good, yeah. I'll wait." Sebastian watched as Jim walked nonchalantly to his wardrobe and pulled out a towel. He had seen many scarred bodies during his time in Afghanistan, and had a few of his own to show off with, but Jim's body was still something else. The years of abuse and the time where he himself had dealt with the scum on the street were still all too visible on his pale skin. It was incredible how this small and slender body had taken all of the pain without ever breaking down completely. Sebastian himself had many scars, but Jim had so many more…

"Sebastian? You're being creepy. One crazy Moran devouring me with her eyes every time I enter a room is way enough." Jim had wrapped a towel around his waist. He had no issues with being naked, mainly because he had learned along the way that he was not only, despite all the scars, a handsome man, but because he had found out that said scars never failed to impress people. "You look upset, Bastian. Tell me what has happened."

"Hope is dead."

Jim frowned, "Really? Did Sherlock win?" Hope had texted Sorcha earlier that he would face Sherlock himself tonight. Both she and Sebastian had hoped that Hope could in fact outwit Sherlock and end Jim's game before it had begun. Of course Jim had been the one to tell Hope what to do. He wanted to see Sherlock in action, in real action, before he dealt with him himself. "Sherlock chose the right pill?"

Sebastian shook his head, "No, Jim. He never get the chance to swallow the pill. I wanted to take a picture, but police was there and I had to leave. Watson shot him."

"Seriously?" That surprised Jim. Judging from Sorcha's steady information about John Watson, Jim would have never guessed the man could be any more than a pawn in Sherlock's world. Sorcha had described him as awfully sweet ("Like, kittens. So cute you'll get cavities by just looking at him."), very nice and warm, and a total Casanova, judging by his trying to hit on… Anthea. "How did that happen? Did he surprise Hope?"

Sebastian shook his head, "Jim, he was in the adjacent building. The shot went through two windows, in the middle of the night. The man is a crack shot. The shot was almost impossible. More so if you say he's got a tremor in his hand."

Jim scratched his head and texted Sorcha.

_Get me the CCTV footage of the college. Did you follow Watson? –JM_

_Copying it as we text. No, I didn't. I knew Seb was there. Why? –Sorcha _

Jim put the phone away. "Shame for Hope. He was quite a good man."

"Jim, there's something else I need to tell you…" Sebastian licked his lips nervously. "Hope didn't die immediately… Holmes… Hope told Holmes that he had a sponsor, something who's a huge fan of him. And of course Sherlock wanted to know who, so, before Hope died, he stepped on the bullet wound, and, well… Hope told him."

"Sherlock knows my name now?" As Sebastian nodded, Jim grinned. "Brilliant. Finally something exciting happens. I'll have a drink, you want some, too?"

"You know I don't drink. Did you listen?"

"Yah. Why?"

"Holmes tortured your man, Jim."

"So what?"

"So what, are you fucking kidding me?"

"Come on, this was pretty tame compared to what you and I do when we're in the mood. You have been tortured before, too."

Sebastian's hand involuntarily shot up to his head. The thick blonde hair hid the scars he had received at the hands of the Taliban, but he knew they were there, and he knew exactly where they were. And he could see their handiwork each day when he looked into the mirror. "Yes, I have been. Yet…" He sighed. "I am worried, James."

Jim grinned, "_James. _It must be serious then." He set the glass that he had filled with red wine down and leaned against his desk. "Tell me. You know I value your opinion. What exactly is it that worries you?"

Sebastian took a breath, "You know, until recently I figured Sherlock was just some geeky bloke who got tired of playing Cluedo. But now… I've seen him torturing Hope. He actually likes that. He doesn't mind being violent if it can give him the evidence or information he needs. I'm worried you might be the next one on his list."

Jim watched him for a few seconds and then smiled widely, "That's your problem? Oh Sebastian, that is really sweet, but totally unnecessary. He won't get to me if I don't let him."

"That's what you say, but there are too many variables in this game, James. Hope spilled the beans. Who will be the next to give Holmes information on how to get closer to you? And then what? Some day he might find you, James. Of course, he will have to get past me first. And he'll only get past me when I'm dead or in jail, so I won't be there to protect you anymore. But I would hate to…" He swallowed. "I would hate to know he hurt you. And then there's Mycroft Holmes. You have no idea what he is capable of."

"Oh Lord. Sebastian, Mycroft Holmes won't even try to get me. He knows perfectly well that I am the one who keeps the city under control. As long as I don't do anything to damage Queen or Country, he won't dare touching me for fear the criminal underworld would wreak havoc on this town if I don't control it."

"Or, if you do anything to damage his little brother." Sebastian said. "Jim, Mycroft Holmes… I… He knows ways to break people. I know it. I _did_ it. And if he ever has a reason to get his hands on you, he will try and break you. And I'm not sure you know exactly _how much_ he can hurt you. And I don't want to see this."

Jim rolled his eyes, "Sebastian, this is awfully sweet, but unnecessary. Get a grip on yourself; one crazy Moran worrying over me 24/7 is more than enough." But the look in his sniper's eyes told him that Sebastian was not just being overly sensitive; he was genuinely worried. "Okay, Sebastian. Listen to me. I will be careful, okay? Mycroft won't have any reason to touch me. And besides…." He gave Sebastian a smile, "I don't have anything to worry for as long as you are there."

"You give me too much credit, Jim. I can't protect you all the time, as much as I want." He took a breath. "You know I would die in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you safe… I beg you, if it ever happens, make sure I don't die in vain."

Now it was Jim's turn to take a breath, "Bastian, I'll promise. I'll promise that I will be careful. But… I just can't stop. I will die from boredom if I don't do this. You've got to understand me. If I took your Peggy Sue from you again, telling you the fun is over and you'll never get to kill anyone ever again, what would you do?"

Sebastian sighed, "Die from boredom."

"See. Don't stop me." He got up. "I need to go. Something about the Chinese. I wish I would have known beforehand how annoying it is to stay up late to talk to these people."

"As if you would sleep if you had the chance." Sebastian murmured.

Jim chuckled, "True that. Listen… Talk to Sorcha, please. I really don't want to have this discussion with her. In contrast to you, she doesn't discuss. She screams."

"You know how much she…"

"Yes, I know, and she knows that I can't." Jim turned on his heel and left for his study.

* * *

Inside, he sat into his chair and sighed deeply. He had no idea when exactly Sebastian had become so attached, and he didn't remember the moment when he himself had started to care so much about Sebastian. Must have been one of the million occasions where his sniper had saved the day by killing somebody who would have killed him. Maybe even their first night, when Sebastian had killed Cinzia after she had shot Jim. He didn't know. What he knew though was that Sebastian was not easy to worry, and the fact that he was worried now showed Jim that he knew exactly whom they were dealing with. That was good. It made him careful enough so that he would be alert. But Jim wasn't worried. Sherlock would not come close enough to endanger him. And Mycroft? Mycroft knew it would mean a lot of extra work for him if he ridded the criminal underground of a leader who controlled it with an iron fist like Jim did. He would have a riot on his hands with Jim gone, and he certainly wouldn't want that. Mycroft cared about Queen and Country, and as long as Jim didn't mess with any of those, Mycroft had no reason to remove Jim from where he was. As for Sherlock… according to Sorcha Mycroft and Sherlock didn't have that good of a relationship. So probably Mycroft would only make a move to protect his brother if Jim endangered Sherlock's life.

Well, it could happen…

* * *

Aw, Seb is so sweet. 3


	4. I can feel an angel sliding up to me

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
**

**Title of this chapter is from Murray Head's _One night in Bangkok._  
**

**People are gonna have non-graphic sex in this chapter.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Three: I can feel an angel sliding up to me**

Sebastian was sitting on the couch, going through the latest issue of the Playboy when Sorcha opened the door. "No, no… No, that's not what I meant. Yes, yes, I know how much it is worth… I don't care… no, no, you listen. If you don't get this hairpin back, my boss will be very angry. I don't care how you do it, but having your little monkey kill the two only people who could know where the pin is… How is Sherlock Holmes supposed to find it if he can't read your code? Yes, alright. Ni hao." She put the phone in her pocket and groaned, "I fucking hate dealing with those idiots."

"The Chinese again? Any news of the hairpin?"

"Nothing. The idiot I'm talking to actually thinks Sherlock will crack the code and find the pin for them."

"Jim knows already?"

"No. Is he here?"

"Nope. He's at St. Bart's."

Sorcha sighed, "I haven't seen him in a week. He's been there all the time, what does he do there?"

Sebastian shrugged, "Who knows? He told me he works in IT. That could be anything from updating AVIRA to manipulating their computers to take over world domination." Sebastian put the magazine away when Sorcha's stomach started to give unmistakable noises. "When did you last eat?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe 3 a.m. Chinese time."

He chuckled, "I'm hungry, too. Come on, I'll make us dinner. How about Pasta?"

"You're an angel."

"Tell that to the cops." He ruffled her hair and walked over to the kitchen. A minute later he came back. "I think something's wrong."

"What?"

"Yesterday I went to Morrison's and did the shopping. The fridge was full. Now all that's left is a tomato." He scratched his head, "And coming to think about, that's the third time this has happened."

Sorcha frowned, "What do you think has happened?"

Sebastian shrugged, "Well, I made myself a soup yesterday evening, but that's about all I took. You weren't here last night, so that leaves…"

"Jim? Come on; we barely can make him eat a sandwich."

"Still, the fridge is empty now, and neither you nor I did it."

"You mean he ate like everything that was in there?"

"I suppose. Well, we can ask him himself…" He added as he heard the key turn in the lock. "Jim, is that you?"

Jim entered the living room, "Who else could it be? What are you doing here, don't you have work to do? And why are you looking at me like this?"

Sebastian was positive that the man standing in front of them was not Jim Moriarty. Jim, who Sebastian had never seen (since he worked for him) in anything but a suit, was wearing jeans and a plain tee, and, unbelievably, sneakers. _His _sneakers, Sebastian noticed. And that wasn't everything.

Sorcha noticed it and asked cautiously, "Have you put on some weight?" She had put it quite politely. Jim, who was normally slender, was sporting quite an impressive tummy, by his standards.

Jim grinned, "Yeah. Looks awful, doesn't it?"

"Well, you know I…"

"Yes, Sorcha, I know, to you I will always look dashing." He rolled his eyes but then smiled. "Thankfully, you're not the only one who thinks like that."

"I am not?"

"Nope. It has taken me some time, but I finally found a way to get closer to Sherlock. Do we have some cookies left?" He shuffled over to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards.

Sorcha looked at Sebastian, a mixture of jealousy and fear in her eyes, and motioned him to follow Jim. He rolled his eyes and walked over to the kitchen where, Jim was typing away on his phone, stuffing his face with Oreo's. "And Sherlock noticed you look quite dashing, too? Even if you look like you're six months pregnant?"

"Don't be shilly. Molly doesch."

"Who the hell is Molly?"

Jim swallowed, "Molly, the girl from the morgue. An angel. Totally awkward and thick. I went with her for a coffee last night. Wrapped her around my finger. She didn't even notice I was gay."

"She didn't even… Jim, I'm sorry to tell you, but you're not making much sense right now. And stop wolfing down Oreos, that's disgusting."

"Remember your place, Moran." Jim shot him a glance, but then sat down and explained, "I took this job because I know Sherlock is frequently in St. Bart's, doing experiments on dead bodies. Well, last night, I was getting bored, since he's chasing after Shan and her gang, so I googled him to see if there's any news on his website, or John's blog, and I stumbled upon Molly's blog. She accidently put his name in one of her blog posts, so it showed up on Google. Molly Hooper, the woman who works in the morgue. So I read her blog, and then I commented, and asked her whether she would like to have coffee with me. So we went for coffee, and, well… I think she likes me. It's hard to tell really, but she kept giggling and saying awkward things…" He shrugged, "I'll see her again tonight. She's got a virus on her computer. I made it myself. Finally this job pays out."

Sebastian was still not sure he understood what Jim meant, "And why exactly were you gay?"

Jim grinned, "That's bothering you the most? I don't know. Something new, something exciting. Turned out to be a good idea. Girls love awkward guys, and, being gay, she doesn't feel threatened by my masculinity, although she didn't even notice. Stupid things, always think just because a guy is gay he's not a real man who could ravish them in an instant…"

"Okay… and why did you feel you need to… I don't know, eat a child?"

"It makes me look just all the more awkward. And now, I feel like pizza. With extra cheese. Anymore questions about my plan?"

Sebastian shook his head, "No, really not. I'll go and get that pizza for you. I feel like I need to talk to some sane people again. However, if you stop being Gay Jim and be our consulting criminal again, Sorcha has trouble with the Chinese."

Jim rolled his eyes, "Remind me to never make deals with foreigners again. All the money isn't really worth the trouble." He got up from the chair, not before putting another cookie in his mouth, and walked to the living room. "Sorcha? What's the problem with the Chinese, still the hairpin?"

"Yes. They think Sherlock will find out where it is, but he doesn't even know what exactly he's looking for. He knows about the code, and about the smuggling, but as long as he can't decipher the code, he can't find the pin." Sorcha tried to not show her dismay at the fact that somebody else found Jim dashing.

But Jim, who could read anybody, of course had no trouble reading Sorcha, whom he had known for so many years, "Oh, you're jealous. Because some other girl fancies me."

"She doesn't fancy you. She fancies the Jim you're pretending to be."

"Indeed. Now listen, Sorcha, I told you before, nothing will happen between us. I've been telling you for almost twenty years. It's not gonna change."

"But you fancy some other girl now. I thought you generally just couldn't feel love…"

"I don't fancy her. God, what are we, teenagers or something? She's just a pawn in my game."

"And still you would do her."

"Of course. But I do you, too, so…." Jim knew she was in a bad mood, and he needed her to deal with the Chinese, so he needed to improve her mood. "Speaking of… it's been a while since I last ravished you."

"Jim, that's not gonna work."

"Oh, I can assure you it _will_, Sorcha. Come on, think about it. How many women can say of themselves they had sex with a gay man?"

Sorcha got up, "Well, I don't care because I don't want sex with gay Jim. Come back when you are yourself again."

Jim rolled his eyes as his hand shot forward to grab her wrist, "Do I really have to force myself onto you to make you know your place?" Of course there was no forcing or anything. She loved him and normally she would beg him to do naughty things to her. "Gay Jim is still at St. Bart's. I am here. And I want you." He pulled and made her sit back on the couch. "And believe me, after dealing with this boring, little woman all day long, I am burning to do someone who can handle a bit of… dirty stuff." He moved on top of her so that he was pinning her to the couch. "And it's gonna get real dirty this time, believe me, doll."

"Jim, I am not in the mood for this…"

"Then I'll guess we just have to lift your mood a bit, don't we?"

"Jim… really…"

"Really?"

She hesitated, then sighed, "Of course I want."

He smirked, "I knew it. Now, you've been quite disobedient a few seconds ago, which of course I cannot accept. I think you should try and make it up to me." He moved so that his lips were brushing her ear, "On. your. knees. Now."

* * *

Sebastian got back half an hour later. As he turned the key in the lock, he heard some noise from inside, thumping, and waited a couple extra seconds before opening the door. Jim was lying on the couch, obviously annoyed, buttoning his jeans, while Sorcha was nowhere to be seen. "Was I interrupting?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Not really, no." Sebastian shoved the pizza box in Jim's hand. "I guess you're hungry."

"Starving."

"Yeah, thank you." He could hear Sorcha's phone ringing in the bathroom. "I should probably beat you up for this."

"Yeah, you definitely should. And once you've beaten me to a pulp she'll nurse me back to health. I like your ideas." Jim mused before taking a huge bite of the pizza slice.

Sorcha barged back in, a towel wrapped around her body, "Jim, we have a situation."

"Sorcha, please, could you…"

"Shut up, Bastian. Jim, the Chinese have kidnapped Watson and his girlfriend."

"What?" Jim put the box away. "How did that happen?"

"I have no idea, I had one of the Chinese on the phone, telling me that they would find out about the pin now since they had Holmes and his girlfriend, and when I asked them to describe him to me, he described a short man with blonde hair. That's Watson. He's out now, so is she, but as soon as they will wake up, the Chinese are going to pull this crazy sand show on them, and, since Watson doesn't know where the pin is… What do we do now?"

Jim thought about it and then bellowed, "Sorcha?"

"Sir?"

"Out there, go and get Sherlock on the right track. I don't care how you do it, but make sure he arrives there before Johnny dies. Sebastian, I want you and your rifle somewhere where you can shoot General Shan tonight. I'll text you the address. I'll make you two responsible if Sherlock or his pet dog die tonight, are we clear on that?"

Both nodded and rushed off.

* * *

Two hours later, Jim was calm again. Everything had gone according to plan. He let his eyes wander over Sorcha, who was sitting on his desk, "So, how did you do it? Get Sherlock to where we wanted him?"

"It was so easy. I was sitting opposite 221B, thinking of what to do when these Germans stood there, discussing on how to get to Charing Cross, flipping through the pages of _London A-Z._ I went there and offered my help. I actually planned on doing the tourist thing myself, but of course, Germans are much more convincing than a Limerick accent. Anyways, I kept them there long enough so that they were bound to run into Sherlock eventually. Sherlock bumped into them, and the moment he saw the book… really, I didn't do all that much."

Jim tilted his head, "Still, I feel like you should be rewarded. I will buy you a gift."

"You know I don't need gifts…"

"Believe me, it is as much for my pleasure as it is for yours… Oh, look, General Shan is online. Funny, how she doesn't know that she is about to die." Jim rubbed his hands. "Is Sebastian ready?"

"Yes. You can start."

Shan, despite the lovely Chinese accent, couldn't quite mask the fear in her voice when she explained what had happened, and that they didn't find the pin. Jim didn't react. Then she started, "Without you—without your assistance—we would not have found passage into London. You have my thanks."

"Isn't that sweet? She's thankful. You could actually be more thankful once in a while, you know that?"

"I sucked you off this morning. How much more thankful can I be?"

Jim chuckled, "True." He then started typing, _Gratitude is meaningless. It is only the expectation of further favours._

"Oh that's good. I like it when you're all philosophical." She hopped of the table and walked behind Jim, her hand on his shoulders. "Do you know you look delicious today?"

Jim smirked, "Wait a second. I need to finish this first. Sit down on my lap and watch daddy work."

Shan was just stammering, "We did not anticipate. We did not know this man would come. This Sherlock Holmes. And now your safety is compromised."

"Good Lord, is this a new club you all founded? The "We are worried about the safety of Jim Moriarty –club? Please, General, join the Morans. One of them is already around the corner..." He flexed his fingers. _They cannot trace this back to me._

Shan seemed to know what was about to happen; her voice was filled with panic when she said, "I will not reveal your identity."

"I don't want her in the club..." Sorcha nibbled on his neck. "I want to bite your neck."

"Just a second. Text Sebastian to shoot. Now." _I am certain. _

The next thing they saw through the camera was the red dot appearing on Shan's front, and a second later there were blood splatters on the lens, and Shan was gone.

Jim flipped his laptop close. "Thank God. No more nightshifts. So, how long do you think it will take your brother to pack his things and be back here?"

"I don't know, about ten minutes?"

"Mh, Then we'll just have to do it fast and hard."

* * *

Mhm. Delicious.


	5. Where angels dare, the devils fill that

**I still keep bothering.  
**

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
**

**Title: from Caro Emerald's _The Other Woman._  
**

**_Warning:  
_Bit of a kinky Jim ahead. **

* * *

**Chapter Four: Where angels dare, the devils fill that need**

It was fascinating for Jim to see how easy he could wrap Molly around his finger. Of course he knew women liked him; there was Sorcha, who had been in love with him for almost twenty years. Then there had been Cinzia, the mafioso's daughter. It had taken him a beating and some charming words to get her, nothing more. Then there had been the countless other women which he had met on his nights out. There just seemed to be something about him which attracted women. Even when there were many good-looking men around, Jim had never left a club or a pub without female company. Jim didn't think of himself as particularly good-looking (which was quite humble, considering that Sorcha had hot flashes every time she saw him); he knew he was not ugly, but he also knew that there were guys on this planet who looked way better than him. But the way he had gotten under Molly's skin in the matter of just a few blog posts, two dates and some sweet talk had surprised him.

Now he was sitting in the canteen, a cup of steaming and bitter coffee in front of him, waiting for her. When she entered the canteen, dishevelled as usual and with her cheeks flushed, he gave her his sweetest smile, got up and reached his hand out, "Molly. So good to see you."

"Jim, hi!" She beamed. "How are you?"

Jim mirrored her expression, "Better now that I see you. Come, sit down. Can I get you something?"

"A cup of hot cocoa, please." When Jim came back, she sighed, "Thank you. It's been a rough day. Many dead bodies. How about you?"

"Same old same, really. You look beautiful today. I like your hair that way."

She blushed even deeper, "Thank you. You are being so kind. You look really nice today, too." She averted her gaze, "Do you have to work tonight?"

"No, I get off at five. You?"

"Me too… Wouldyouliketocomeoverfordin nertonight?"

"Excuse me?" He tilted his head.

"I... I wondered if you would like to come to my place for dinner tonight? I'll cook."

"I'll bring the wine." Jim smiled. "That's really nice. I love your company." _Mainly because I know you can get me close to Sherlock. _"So, did your friend come to see you today?"

Molly shook her head, "No, he didn't. I guess he finds it boring to be with me when there's no pressing case."

"Well, then he is just stupid. Sorry." Jim actually managed to blush. "I'm just saying, if he doesn't see what an interesting person you are then he clearly isn't as intelligent as you paint him."

"Well, he is. He's just… I shouldn't talk about him." She took a sip of her cocoa. "Let's talk about you. We always talk about me, but never about you."

"There's not much to say about me…" Jim was quick to answer. Of course he had made up a whole background story for Jim-from-IT. He had decided to use the oldie-but-goldie broken and beaten boy routine. It had worked with Cinzia, and he was sure it would work with emotional and sensitive Molly Hooper even better. So, he needed to pussyfoot around the subject of his past; no one would spill the beans about it all that readily. "Really. Very boring." He was talking just a bit too fast and sounding just a bit too nonchalant to make it look like he was telling the truth.

And Molly picked up on it immediately, "You are hiding something from me."

"It's just not a particularly nice story." He took a sip from his coffee. "It's not the kind of thing you talk about to lovely ladies like you." He gave her a sad smile. "You'll see it soon enough, though. I hope."

"See what?"

"Me. Naked. That is…" he started stammering. "If you want. I mean, I don't want to talk you into anything…"

"It's okay, Jim." She seemed suddenly very excited. "I'm looking forward to… seeing you tonight. Let's say eight o'clock?"

"It's a date."

* * *

"I need something that looks completely awkward and yet flattering." Jim stood in front of his wardrobe.

Sorcha was really not in the mood to help him get Molly into bed, "You know you look good in everything."

"I do, yet I feel I need something special tonight. Do you think I would look good in one of your brother's shirts? They much too big for me, but I think it might compliment my frame, make me look more vulnerable."

"And how are you gonna explain to Molly why you buy shirts that are too large for you?"

"I don't know. You're right. That won't work." He bit his lower lip.

"Are you going to sleep with her?" She couldn't, she had to ask.

Jim closed the wardrobe door and turned to her, "Sorcha. I told you from the beginning on how this is going to be. I will sleep with as many women as I see fit. And yes, I will sleep with Molly tonight. And I will make it good."

He could have slapped her in the face, it would have had the same effect, "Okay. Then I guess I should leave you to your preparations."

"You will stay here. I have something for you, too." He opened a drawer. "I fear I'll have to settle for Vanilla sex tonight, I need something to keep me hot. Remember how I told you I would make you a gift?"

"Yeah." _Don't sleep with Molly. That would be the greatest gift you could make me. _

"Well, I bought you this." He brought out a corselet. Black lace. "I told you it would be for my pleasure as well, didn't I? Now, I want you to wear this tonight. So that I can imagine you before my inner eye when I'm doing her."

"Wow. Now I feel flattered." Sorcha couldn't cover the sarcasm in her voice.

"I don't need you to feel flattered. Come on, go into the bathroom and change."

"You want me to put that on now?"

"Of course. Go." While she was in the bathroom, Jim went back to rummaging through his wardrobe and decided on a plain white shirt that made his skin look even paler than usual. The scars on his wrists stood out. It would be enough to get Molly all worried and sad about his horrible, horrible childhood.

But when Sorcha came back, he actually forgot his plan for a second. After all, he was just a man, and she was a woman. "You look great."

"Thank you. Are you gonna stay here and do me?"

He shook his head, "No, Sorcha. Come here." She did. "Turn around." He rested his nose against her neck and breathed in. "Very nice. I do have a great taste. Now, here's what I'm gonna do. I will tie this now. Very tight. It will be very uncomfortable for you. I expect of course that you wear this until I come back, which will probably be some time tomorrow evening. If you do, I will do you. And when I say do, I mean it. I will force you to come at least four times. If I come home tomorrow and you're not wearing it anymore, I will be very upset. And you don't want to upset me. Do you think you can do that for me?"

"Of course…" she breathed.

"Very good." He ran his finger over her naked shoulders before he proceeded to tug the laces to tie the corset. He laced it up tightly. "How's breathing now?" She murmured something. Jim made a knot and planted a feather light kiss on her naked shoulders. "At least that will assure you won't forget me tonight."

"As if I could."

"True. But I will during the whole night picture you in this thing. Make sure you don't disappoint me…" He smiled and went back to his wardrobe. "There's something else I need to do." He brought out a plastic bag. "Remember these?"

She paled, "Carl's trainers."

"Indeed." His eyes darkened as he looked at them, running his tongue involuntarily along his teeth until he reached the small gap. The tooth Carl had knocked out. Suddenly the taste of mud was back in his mouth. "I will make my first move tonight."

"What are you going to do?"

"I will put these in 221C Baker Street. Then I will send Sherlock a picture. Your brother is currently abducting and preparing a hostage for me. Tomorrow morning, Sorcha."

She nodded, "Okay. Anything you need me to do?"

"Hold the fortress. I'll need Sebastian to watch the hostage for as long as it takes Sherlock to solve my puzzle." He suddenly smiled, "I'm so excited, Sorcha."

She didn't share his joy, but she hid it well, "It's great to see you smile again. Do you think Sherlock will solve the puzzle?"

"I have no idea. I'm positive that he will remember the case once he sees the shoes. If he finds the toxin…" Jim shrugged. "I like surprises. Plus… he will visit St Bart's tomorrow because he will need the equipment. So… I'll see him. I will meet Sherlock Holmes."

Sorcha remembered when she was young. She had been a huge Take That fan. Robbie had always been her favourite. If she had ever met him in person, she would have been excited, too. But not _that_ excited. She wanted to tell Jim to be careful, to change his mind, to not enter that game. But the light that shone in his eyes convinced her otherwise.

So, she decided to do the next best thing. "I have something for you." She reached with her hands behind her neck and unfastened her necklace. "My mam gave me this when I moved to London. In case I run into shady people. Little did she know." It was a long necklace with a small, plain silver cross pendant. "To protect me, you know. I want you to wear it now."

Jim could help but feel a bit… touched? "That's really sweet, but I don't need it."

"Please, Jim. It would calm me down a bit. And I don't need it, either. After all, I have the best protection I could possibly have. I'm your soldier."

Jim hesitated. He had lost his faith in God when God had taken both his parents from him. But then again, he had to admit, he had been living on the borderline all his life, and he had survived and come this far, so maybe, just maybe, there was somebody up there watching over him.

So he took it and fastened it around his own neck, "Thank you, Sorcha. I'm sure I am His favourite."

She grinned, "You are mine, I guess you have to settle with that."

"Well it does have advantages. God isn't really naughty." He looked at himself in the mirror. "So, do I look good?"

She sighed, "Yes, James. You look marvellous. She's one lucky woman."

"She definitely will be tomorrow."

* * *

**Do bother too.**


	6. Just dance, spin that record, baby…

**Disclaimer**: see Prologue.

**Title**: from Lady Gaga's _Just Dance._

_All dialogues or homepage posts you recognize belong to the BBC.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Five: Just dance, spin that record, baby…**

_Gay. Nothing. Hey. _The only words he had said. Nothing more.

And Jim couldn't pretend he wasn't angry.

Okay, he had fooled Sherlock. 1:0 Jim. Sherlock hadn't doubted for a second that he was gay. Success.

What bothered him though was Sherlock's contempt. He was used to contempt alright. But normally it came from lesser people, people that were too stupid to see how brilliant he was. That didn't bother him. But Sherlock, looking down at him, now, that bothered him big time.

And Molly. He had to chuckle. Molly had thrown a big tantrum over Jim being gay. She hadn't exactly been mean to him; not one bad word about his gayness. But she had been rather… reproachful. They have had a huge fight, and she had stormed off. Shame, because fighting with her had been rather distracting. Now he needed another distraction. He checked Sherlock's homepage.

_FOUND! Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989). Botulinim toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St._

Oh. Sherlock had solved his puzzle. Sweet. Sherlock 1:1 Jim. It was time for Round Three. He closed his eyes, scrolling mentally through his list of clients to figure out whom to cut loose. _Ian Monkford_. He had never liked the guy.

_Sebastian, grab somebody else. The game is still on. –JM_

_Okay. Anything else you need me to do? – SM_

_Take a picture of the car and send it to me. And then watch your chosen one for me. –JM_

_Will do. See you tonight. –SM_

Jim nodded. He was looking forward to round two. He would give Sherlock less time. Maybe he would fail. Who knew? He sighed. Now he was bored again.

* * *

It didn't last for long. Sherlock was getting faster by the minute. Jim was wildly amused when he checked the detective's homepage later that day. _Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Colombia. _It looked like a clear victory for Sherlock, but Jim doubted Sherlock would have gotten that far without his help. _The clue's in the name… _He didn't know why he had helped him, but he was that changeable, and, to be honest, as Sebastian's chosen one was standing wrapped up in explosives in central London, he thought it was better to not having to blow the poor chap up. The next victim wouldn't be so lucky. Jim would make sure of that. Sebastian had actually paled when Jim had told him who it would be. A few years ago, Joan Moran, Sebastian's and Sorcha's mother, had been killed in a car crash. The woman who had done it at that time had been almost blind and should have never been allowed to drive a vehicle. Sorcha had found out her name, but she had never done anything about it. Neither had Sebastian. Jim didn't know whether they were just being afraid to confront the woman, or if they were just yellow. Yet, she would soon die. Sebastian was waiting outside. Jim got up from his chair. It was time to prepare her. And, for all the lovely things Joan Moran had done for Jim when he was young, he would make sure she would die. Even if Sherlock would find out who had killed Connie Price, and why, she would die tonight. His last greeting to Joan Moran. Sebastian had nearly freaked when he had given Sherlock twelve hours to solve the puzzle. _Twelve hours? That much? Why? Don't you want my mother's killer to die? _Sorcha had said nothing, but she had her temper better under control than Sebastian. Anyways, Sebastian was currently on his way Glasgow, Jim's driver was waiting downstairs, it was time to ring the bell for round four.

* * *

Twelve people died that night as Jim told the woman what to say when she was on the phone with Sherlock. _He was so… his voice… he sounded so soft…. _Her last words. It was a losing game anyway. If she hadn't repeated what he said, he would have motioned to Sebastian to shoot her, having repeated what he told her, he did the same thing. She hadn't deserved any better.

Now Jim was back home, getting some well-deserved sleep, when his phone rang. He moaned and picked up, "Yes, Sorcha, what is it?"

"I think I have something for you. The Vermeer painting is a fake."

"Of course it is. Didn't you notice?"

"Do I look like fucking Picasso? Anyways, somebody else found it out, too. The owner of the gallery wants him to… go away."

"Why would I be interested?" Jim had noticed at first glance the painting was a fake. He was not Raj Koothrapali, but he had a solid knowledge about the solar system, contrary to Sherlock, he had noticed the Van Buren supernova and knew that it couldn't have been in the painting if the painting was real… Wait. He suddenly started smiling. Oh, this one would be good…. "Changed my mind. Tell the owner I'll take care of it. What do you know?"

"Security guard. Huge fellow. Have Sebastian shoot him, much safer than dealing with him yourself."

"Mhm…" Jim rolled on his front. "Call Dzundza for me, will you?"

"That brute?"

"Yes, that brute. Do you have the name of the security guard? Yes? Tell Dzundza to do what he does best, put the body under water for an hour or to and then place it…. Near the Thames, somewhere. Tell Sebastian to take a picture and send it to me."

"Sure. And then kidnap somebody?"

"Wait with that. I'll text Sebastian. And keep yourself away from Dzundza, will you? You're much smaller than him."

"You're much smaller than me…"

He grinned, "I'll be careful. See you tonight." He put the phone down and rolled on his back again. Oh, this would be good: a case that would probably prove too difficult for Sherlock to solve because of his absent knowledge of the solar system (somebody should tell John posting things like this on his blog was very unwise if your enemy was James Moriarty), a very special brand of killer with a very unique modus operandi…. Yeah, that was something new. Worth being woken up.

Sorcha found the Golem at Vauxhall. She wasn't too sure if the… man… had understood her, as he just sat there and watched her and creeped the shit out of her, but when Sebastian texted her that the body of Alex Woodbridge had appeared on the shore of the Thames, she thought the creature might be smarter than it looked like.

* * *

Sherlock, however, proved them wrong. Jim had bet Sebastian five-thousand quid that Sherlock would never solve the case. Now, as Sebastian was out, celebrating his victory with a few pints, Jim was actually angry with himself. He had been negligent, but it had all gone very fast. Normally, he would have sent somebody to Woodbridge's flat and sift through it, making sure nothing was there that could endanger his client. This time he hadn't done it immediately. He had gone to the flat after Watson had been there, had discovered the message on the answering machine, had sent the Golem out to kill that professor woman, and thereby almost caused the death of Sherlock and John. Now, that would have been unfortunate.

Unfortunate was also that Sherlock had solved the case because Jim had not been careful. If John hadn't heard the message, they would have never gone to the planetarium, Sherlock would have never gotten the right idea in his head… Jim hated to fail in general, but even more so when he knew it was his fault. He could cope with other people failing, he didn't expect of them to be as good as he was, but the fact that _he_ had failed, now, that was not acceptable. Somebody had to pay. And, because he couldn't blame anyone but himself, he decided he would pause the game. Punish himself with some boredom.

Sebastian was sitting in the living room when Jim suddenly barged out again. "Sebastian, get your team ready." He scanned the room, "Where is your sister?"

"Out, getting us a pizza. What's the matter?"

"I just saw Sherlock's newest post on his homepage. _Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect. The Pool. Midnight._"

Sebastian frowned, "What the… What pool?"

"What pool, are you being serious? _The _pool. Where Carl died. Two hours till midnight. Now, here's what I want you to do: I want you to get your team ready. I already texted Eóin; he has just taken Johnny for a ride."

"What?"

Jim rolled his eyes, "You're being slow tonight, Sebastian. Eóin was watching Baker Street tonight. When I read the message in Sherlock's forum, I told him to kidnap John, in case I need him for the big fight."

"It's gonna end tonight?" Sebastian sounded hopeful.

"It will. Tonight he will die. Now, get your team ready, for crying out loud."

"Yes, sir. What else?"

"Remember the gallery? This is where you're going to be. With your rifle. I want you to focus on Watson as soon as I send him out. I will have Sherlock believe that John is Moriarty. I want to see his reaction."

"Okay, I'll be ready. What about Sorcha?"

"Call her, and tell her I want lasagne. That usually takes about twenty minutes to get ready. By the time she gets back, we're off."

"You don't want to take her with us?"

Jim tilted his head, "Do you? I thought you love to protect her?"

"You're right. I'll call her and order some risotto as well."

* * *

Both men were gone when Sorcha returned with three pizzas, a lasagne and a risotto. Oh, she was angry! Sebastian had sounded like a starving tiger on the phone, and now nobody was here! She put the food on the kitchen table and tried Sebastian's phone. It went straight to voicemail. _Not here. Leave your message at the tone. _Jim declined her call only seconds after she made it. Okay, both men apparently didn't want to be disturbed. It sounded harmless, but with James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran, you never knew. But where were they? If they went out like that with no message left for her whatsoever, it must have been something pressing. Otherwise they would never go out together; Sebastian's face was still fresh in people's memories, and for Jim to be seen with him could be dangerous. She poured herself a glass of water as she ran down Jim's cases in her mind. No, nothing. Nothing that could be urgent. So, something had come up spontaneously. Mhm, impossible. Clients always got her number first. No, something was off. She sat down at Jim's desk, scanning the papers that were scattered over it. Nothing. But then she noticed something. Jim's computer was on stand-by, not shut down as it usually was when he was away. God, he was getting really careless. What the hell had happened here? Could she dare to….? No. The computer was Jim's; he would cut her into pieces if she touched it. But it must have got something to do with it… She pulled her phone out of her purse. Jim was not much of an internet addict, and there were only two pages he visited regularly. Watson's blog and Sherlock's page.

_Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect. The Pool. Midnight._

The missile plans. Mycroft had kept it secret, but there had been rumours about the plans gone missing. So, Sherlock had them. Of course. And he offered them to Jim? Mycroft would love that… Jim and missile plans. No one could predict what he could do with that… Suddenly her grip on the HTC tightened. Oh God, Sherlock had proposed a meeting. And Jim and Sebastian had run off. Fuck, Jim was meeting Sherlock. Not good. Not good. The pool. The pool. What pool? God, there were tons of pools in London! But Jim and Sebastian apparently knew what pool, so, she should know, too. Was the pool for the Olympic Games opened already? Where was it, the London Aquatics Centre? That would sound logical. Where else could Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty meet if not where the best were triumphing over those that weren't as good? No, the building was still only a construction site. Shit shit shit. Where? A pool Jim and Sherlock knew, and the certainty that the other would know it….

Oh God. They were meeting at the pool where Carl Powers had died.

They had to. It was the only link between them.

Sorcha felt panic building in her stomach as she saw that it was already 11:32. Oh God, no, what if Sherlock didn't come alone? John would be with him, for sure. She prayed Sebastian had his snipers at the ready as she grabbed her coat and keys. She had to get her. Sherlock had proposed the meeting, he would surely come with… hell, probably Mycroft and RAF or something. What could Jim and Sebastian and a handful of snipers do against the full force of the government? She had to… she didn't know. What could she do? Nothing, probably. But if this was the night James Moriarty had chosen to die, she would be there, too. Hold his hand or something.

* * *

I somehow feel rather ridiculous for keeping updating.


	7. Now you're just somebody

Thank you.

**Disclaimer: see Prologue**

**Title: Taken from Gotye's _Somebody that I used to know_  
**

* * *

**Chapter Six****: ****Now you're just somebody that I used to know**

_Chlorine._ Jim remembered the last time he had smelled it. The exact same place. Carl Powers. He had killed him. Killed him for all the bad things he had done. For all the humiliations Jim had suffered at his hand. His first murder.

And now he was back here. John Watson, covered in semtex, was in the adjacent room, waiting for Jim to talk to him, while Sebastian assembled his squad on the gallery to give last minute orders. It gave Jim a moment to watch the water, remembering the twitching body of Carl Powers. Oh God, was that really just eighteen years ago?

The door opened. _Brought you a little "getting to know you" present._

Sherlock was there. He had to get ready. He gave the microphone in his hand a little slap. "Hello John. Now, you know how this works. You repeat what I say, or my sniper is going to blow this whole building up. With you, and with Sherlock. So, be nice."

* * *

Sebastian motioned to his snipers to be alert once he saw Sherlock entering the pool room. If it were up to him, he would fire a bullet at Watson's head, then walk around the gallery and put a second bullet in Sherlocks's oh-so-brilliant brain, and go home with Jim and have a beer or two. But as it was, the decision was up to Jim. Sebastian could not see Sherlock's face, but he could see Watson, who repeated Jim's every word, and Jim, who was hiding behind the door to the next room, watching everything. And he smiled. So, apparently everything went well. Sebastian focused on John again. Watson didn't seem nervous; not much at least. Just now he was opening his jacket and showed Sherlock the bomb vest. Sebastian glanced at Jim who nodded, and aimed at the vest. The red dot appeared.

_Gottle of Gear. Gottle of Gear._

Sebastian had to grin. When it came to breaking the mood, Jim was an absolute master.

_I stopped him. I could stop John Watson too. _

Was there a little tremor in the doctor's voice?

_Stop his heart. _

_Who are you? _

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call."

* * *

Jim took one last deep breath. Standing in the adjacent room was one thing. Going back to the pool was another. He left it as the winner once. Would he leave it as the winner this time? Would he leave at all?

* * *

Sorcha arrived just in time to see Jim emerging from the shadows, walking casually around the pool towards John and Sherlock. If she had ever doubted why Jim was the master criminal he was, seeing him in action again after so many years showed it to her. The way he walked, hands in his pockets… not even Eminem or the likes had that much of God-given swagger. Not even the gun Sherlock pointed at him seemed to make him feel threatened in any way. If he was nervous, he didn't show it.

But Sorcha was nervous, which was why she remained outside instead of looking for a way inside the building. From here, she could see everything. Jim strutting around, Sebastian on the gallery, his rifle trained on John, who was standing opposite Sherlock, who had his gun trained on Jim. What a nice circle. And Jim just continued walking, talking apparently, although she couldn't make out what he was saying, seemingly unaware of the danger he was in.

"Oh God, Jim… Please, be careful…" She licked her lips and wrapped her arms around her waist.

* * *

Sebastian noticed the movement outside, although it was barely noticeable. But Sebastian was a trained soldier, and the woman outside was not, although she had picked up some knowledge along the way. He focused back on John immediately, bit his lip, and changed his aim, from the bomb vest to John's throat. So, his sister was here. Not exactly helpful. At least she seemed to have decided to stay outside, which was a little something if this was a trick and Mycroft was waiting with his people somewhere. Better chance for her to get away…

"Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

Really, Jim? Talking about underwear when somebody's gun is pointed at you? And… what the hell, why are you walking towards them? Jim, stop.

_People have died._

"That's what people…"

* * *

"…DO!" Jim couldn't believe it. Sherlock Holmes was telling _him_ that people had died? If anybody knew people died, it was Jim. Little James Moriarty, who had lost his father when he was ten and his mother when he was sixteen, knew everything about death, and that people died. What did Sherlock know? He had probably never lost anyone. How could he, if he really didn't care about people?

* * *

Sorcha didn't hear the yell, but she noticed the change in mood. Something had upset Jim. Sherlock, probably. As she knew from Mycroft's comments, Sherlock was apparently pretty good at upsetting people. But a crack in Jim's shell? That was something new. It must have been something bad, because apparently Jim was hell bound on getting close enough to Sherlock to… what, disarm him? Even with Sebastian's snipers around that was a suicide mission, with Sherlock's gun in his face… "Jim, what are you doing… Stop…" Her eyes darted between Sherlock and John. There was something going on, something, and she couldn't tell what. Something that made Jim step closer to John, leaning in, talking to him. "Jim, get away from him…" Now Sherlock raised his hand and offered something to Jim.

* * *

Sebastian couldn't see Sherlock's face, but he could see John's, and that was enough. He had seen John's slight nodding when Sherlock had asked him if he was okay. But there was something in this little motion. The way John had locked eyes with the man opposite him. They were planning something. Something, and Sebastian had no idea what, but he was sure it would not be to Jim's advantage. And when Sherlock offered the memory stick to Jim… _Take it…._ Sebastian suddenly knew what would happen. It was the perfect plan. In order to take the stick, Jim would have to walk towards Sherlock. He would stand in between Sherlock and John, with the doctor in his back… John would grab him… The man was a soldier, trained to kill his enemy, and Sebastian knew John had killed people before, he had even witnessed it once, with Hope. He had killed Hope to save Sherlock from death. And now, with snipers everywhere, ready to kill him _and _Sherlock, what was the one thing John Watson could do to rescue his friend.

Take a hostage.

* * *

_Sherlock, run! _

John grabbed him.

Sorcha almost screamed, but her voice refused its service. _Jim. Jim… _Jim looked vastly amused, even as John's arm all but locked around his throat. Oh God, the bastard really wanted to die now, didn't he? Her eyes darted to her brother. _Sebastian, do something, please. Do something to save him…. _She watched as her brother got up, probably not making the faintest of sounds, and dashed (Barefoot. As if he had expected it.) to the other side of the pool. She could see the red dot appearing on Sherlock's front.

And John let go of Jim, not without dealing a little blow to Jim's face when pulling his arm back. Just to make a statement probably.

Sorcha let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. No, no, no, this was getting out of hand. Something needed to be done. Something, some angel needed to step in and rescue Jim. Sebastian couldn't help. Even with his snipers, a shoot-out was most likely to kill them all: not even Sebastian and his team could make sure the bomb vest wouldn't be hit.

But what could she do? She had no gun with her, and any appearance she would make bared the risk that Sebastian would be distracted and Sherlock would shoot Jim. No, stopping Sherlock or John was not an option.

She had to stop Jim.

Or maybe she didn't even have to?

_You've been hit by, you've been struck by a smooth criminal…_

* * *

"Well. I'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat."

Sebastian frowned. That was it? That was the whole confrontation? And Jim was just leaving like that? That was unusual.

Sebastian remained on his spot, eyes focused on Sherlock.

_What if I was to shoot you now? Right now._

'Then, my friend, I will put a bullet between your eyes, and I'll do so with a smile', Sebastian thought, before he had to grin as Jim made a grimace, smirked, and wandered off, just as nonchalantly as he had entered the place about ten minutes ago.

But Sebastian waited, and motioned his team to wait as well. For as long as he got no signal from Jim that allowed him to leave. Surely within the next few seconds, he would signal him to pack his things. In the meantime, he could enjoy the effect the stand-off had on John, whose legs wouldn't carry him anymore, and Sherlock, who scratched his head with a loaded gun. Funny, those guys. Not ready to take on Jim Moriarty. Speaking of…

The signal didn't come.

Instead, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it.

_Stay where you are. I'm coming back._

* * *

"Look, lady, this is really not the moment, Mr Moriarty is busy." Sorcha couldn't believe her luck. Jim had left. He had left. He would survive. Everything would be alright. And this woman on the phone, Irene Something, she could wait. Right now, Sorcha just wanted to hug Jim into oblivion, slap him for scaring her like that, and never let go of him.

But why wasn't Sebastian moving? Why did he remain there, rifle at the ready? What the….?

And then Jim came back.

And Sherlock aimed at the discarded bomb jacket.

"You know what, Ma'am. I changed my mind. Could you call this number immediately? 02 08…" Jim didn't move. He seemed to wait for the bang… "And please, when I say immediately, I mean immediately…."

* * *

Oh! Sherlock aimed at the bomb vest. Jim was amused. Let him. He always wanted to leave this shithole of a planet with a bang. Of course it had crossed his mind Sherlock would do exactly that. It was how Jim wanted to leave. And taking Sherlock and his pet with him? Extra bonus. He felt bad for Sebastian, who would surely die, too. The man who had followed him everywhere, ready to give his life for him any second. Well, this was it, then. He mentally sent a final good-bye to his faithful man, and looked back at Sherlock. Why was he hesitating? Come on, Sherlock. Shoot.

And then he heard it. The first tones of _Stayin' Alive_. Somebody was calling him. Now. The timing couldn't be worse. Really not. Jim tried to not react, but lord, this was distracting… And the caller wouldn't hang up…

Finally, Jim had enough. "Do you mind if I get that?"

* * *

If the situation hadn't been so tense, Sebastian would have laughed tears. Jim Moriarty, moments away from being blown to pieces, saved by _Stayin' Alive._ Oh the irony.

"SAY THAT AGAIN! Say that again and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you."

Whoa. Something had come up. If Jim got so excited over the telephone, it had to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that was presented to him here.

Or else he wouldn't say good-bye to Sherlock now. Or, more like, see you soon.

"So if you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes."

And then he snapped his fingers. The signal to leave.

* * *

Sorcha didn't hear the snap, but she saw Jim leaving, and Sebastian and his team following. If John's legs had earlier given in, it was nothing compared to what she felt now that all the adrenaline suddenly left.

And she had to leave now, too. She would get shit for giving this woman Jim's number anyways- normally she would tell him somebody called and he would then get in touch if he deemed it interesting enough-, but if he found out she had been here, watching, and interrupting his showdown _on purpose_ she would end up with a bomb vest next. She had to dash. Now.

* * *

Sebastian had sent his men away and was now walking to the car with Jim. Of course he knew what had happened. His sister was out of her fucking mind. Crossing Jim's plans like that, she must share his wish to die. He could just hope Jim hadn't noticed her presence.

But Jim was too old to believe in coincidences. Sorcha never gave people his number, no matter how interesting the case was. And even though this case was very interesting indeed, she would have called him first. Unless… He scratched his head. "Sebastian, go get the car, I need to check on something."

"You're not going after Sherlock without me?"

"Of course not. I'll be right with you."

Sebastian didn't ask further questions. Jim walked around the building. If she had been here, she would have been somewhere where she could observe the scene, which didn't leave that many choices. The woman on the phone had said Sorcha had told her to call her immediately, and he hadn't heard Sorcha's phone ring, which meant that, if she had been here to watch, she would have had to be outside. Which left even fewer choices. So in the matter of a few seconds, he had found the place where Sorcha had been standing. There was still that faint smell of green tea and _Heatrush_ in the air. And prints of her sneakers, distinctive prints.

Jim clenched his fist. Stupid woman. She had ruined everything.

* * *

She was sitting on the couch when Sebastian and Jim got home. The look on his face told her that he knew.

And his tone told her she was in trouble as he hissed through clenched teeth, "Sebastian. Go out and have some pints."

Sebastian answered, "Jim, please… Look, she only did it to protect you. You know how women think. I'll take the punishment for her."

"Oh, how very noble, Sebastian. But that is not going to happen. Go. Out. And. Have. Some. Pints."

Sebastian made a step forward, "Jim, you might be my boss, but if you think I will let you hurt my sister…"

"Oh, stop being so Katniss-Everdeen and leave. Or I'll punish you both. And the longer you stand here, the angrier I get." He lowered his head. "Do you really want that?"

Sebastian opened his mouth, but Sorcha shook her head, "You're not improving things for me, Sebastian. Please, just go."

"Sorcha…"

"Sebastian, I will be okay. Please go now. I'll have a drink with you later."

"Yeah, like you'd be able to…" He gave Jim a last glance, but he left, knowing it was the only thing he could do now.

Jim pulled up a chair and sat down opposite of Sorcha, who seemed pretty collected. Well, that was about to change. "Have you got anything to say for yourself?" His voice was barely more than a whisper. He was angry, yes, but not in a way that he would slap her, skin her, or anything along those lines.

Of course, she couldn't know that, and she would have taken him screaming over him whispering any time, "I was afraid he would kill you. I had to do something."

"You are not supposed to interfere. That's why I didn't invite you along. And now, you ruined it. I really don't know what I am going to do to you." He got up from the chair and moved behind the sofa. He placed his hands on her shoulders, "Are you afraid, Sorcha?"

"Yes."

He added a bit of force to his grip," Smart woman. Are you going to apologize for ruining my evening?"

"I'm not sorry."

More force, enough to leave bruises, "You should be, Sorcha. You betrayed my trust. How can I ever trust you again, I ask you."

"I saved your life tonight. Sherlock would have shot."

"But I didn't ask you to save my life…" He tightened his grip even more. She was actually trying to shake his hands off now. "Sit tight, Sorcha." He leaned in and whispered into her ear, "I am so angry. You better hold your head high and suffer with a smile now, because I could do much worse to you. _This…" _more force "is nothing compared to what I want to do now." He could see she was biting her lip to stop herself from screaming now. "I said _smile_, didn't I?" He took a breath and let go of her. "Now, you know I will punish you. However, I feel that for what you did today, you deserve something special. Something that will make you know your place once and for all. And until I have found that special something, you're free to go." She frowned. "I'm serious. Nothing will happen tonight. Now go and join your brother for a few pints. If I see one of you again here tonight, I will do my worst. Now GO!" She practically stumbled of the couch and made a dash for the door.

Jim walked into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. It took him a few very deep breaths to calm himself down again. This stupid woman, she had ruined everything. For almost twenty years he kept telling her that her love was futile, and yet she ruined the night that was supposed to be ultimate climax of his shitty life just because she loved him. He clenched his fist. Oh, how he hated her now, in this very instant. But he couldn't have punished her immediately. It would have ended in her dying, and he felt he owed her to wait until he calmed down a bit until he stroke. She had been good to him all this time, he couldn't just torture her until she begged for death like he had done on occasions before.

His eyes rested on his phone. Irene Adler. And probably the most interesting case he had ever come across. He would meet with her tomorrow. _The woman,_ she had introduced herself. Of course he knew about her. Everybody in the business knew her, and Jim had never lost touch with where he came from. A, no, _the_ dominatrix. Only the rich and famous could afford her services. And she could afford _his _services, of that he was sure.

Only he wasn't too sure if Irene Adler knew whom she was dealing with.


	8. And the mirrors gon' fog tonight

Disclaimer: see prologue

Title: taken from Natalia Kills's _M__irrors. _

_Warnings: There's going to be mentions of sex.  
_

_There are some references to my previous story in here. Check it out. Just a man and his will to survive._

* * *

**Chapter Seven: And the mirrors gon' fog tonight...**

"So, you are James Moriarty…" Irene Adler, dressed in what Jim recognized Prada, and wearing Louboutins, took a sip from her cup and let her eyes rest on Jim's face. "I have to admit I imagined you a bit more… intimidating."

Jim smiled slightly, "Don't be fooled by my appearance. I can make your life a living hell if I deem it necessary. So, Miss Adler… I'm a very busy man, so I would appreciate if we get straight to business. What do you want?"

"Well, what can I get for this?" She motioned at the camera-phone that was lying on the table.

"I can get you everything you want. The question is, what do you want? And aim high; I don't do boring."

She chuckled, "You want me to aim high? I want this nation at my knees. Just like I had some of its… representatives."

"That's what I wanted to hear."

Irene frowned, "You're serious about this? Do you really think…"

Jim rolled his eyes, "If we do this, I need you to stop questioning my abilities. Yes, I think… no, I know, we can do this. I just need you to jump at my every command."

Now she broke into a grin, "It's usually the other way round, Mr Moriarty. People jump at my command." Then she tilted her head, "I would like to have you at my mercy once. You would surely look supreme tied up and gagged."

Before Jim's eyes flashed the image of him at Sir Steven's mercy, tied, gagged and ready to be penetrated. "I can assure you I do. Believe it or not, I was at the business' end of a whip countless times in my life."

"And you stopped? How unfortunate. My marks sure would decorate your skin in the most beautiful ways…. But yeah, you were saying busy and business. What are we going to do?"

Jim scratched his head, "If you have the country's representatives in your bedroom, why isn't the nation at your feet already?"

"I seem to struggle to find my way in. Well, in certain areas. But I had a visitor, just after I called you. I took pictures this time. Care to see them?"

"Not much. Are they convincing?"

"Yes. Hugh Hefner would sell all his bunnies to get a look at them, I imagine."

"Very good. So, here's what you will do. You will get in touch with them and tell them that you have the pictures. Nothing more."

Irene didn't understand, "Why would I do that?"

Jim didn't answer, but the plan unwrapped before his inner eye. Mycroft Holmes was a lazy arse, never once would he go out and seek Adler. Which left Sherlock to do his brother's dirty work. Both Holmes brothers involved. Christmas came early this year.

"Are you still listening?"

Jim raised his head, "I am. Now listen… Let us wait for a few weeks. I want you to do some research. The name is Sherlock Holmes."

"What do you want me to find out for you?"

"Nothing. I know what I need to know… I want you to figure out what he likes. Try and find out what you could do to charm him, but don't do anything until I tell you."

"Why do we need this Sherlock Holmes? I would think a man of your intelligence would figure this code out yourself."

Jim shook his head, "I know what it is. What I don't know is how it works and what it means, because I don't have the insider knowledge. My source in the government is unfortunately way too low in the food-chain. Sherlock has… relations that could be of interest for us."

"But you are sure this is important enough for the government to do what I want?"

"Positive. If MOD is involved… Besides, you say the guy likes to show off? He would certainly feel he needs something special to impress a woman like you."

"So, I am special?" She leaned back and crossed her legs. "I hope you mean that as a compliment…"

Jim wanted to shrug at first; but then he thought he could as well check how good the woman really was. "Of course I did."

She gave him a smile, "Well, you seem to be very special, too. I still cannot believe who is sitting here in front of me. Completely different from what I imagined, and yet very… intriguing. Those eyes… I could drown in them." She put her cup back in its saucer. "Let's talk about money, then. How much do you want for your services?"

Jim thought about it. Normally a job like this, he would charge her a fortune; it meant a lot of work for him, and, dealing a blow to the country would mean he would get in the Mycroft's focus, which meant danger. Plus, this would be a long-time arrangement, because if he wanted Sherlock to do the work, it would take some time for Adler to get under his skin. But then again… this was _the _opportunity to trouble Holmes senior a bit, and while it was dangerous, it was also… exciting.

He made a decision, "You know what? If this works out the way I want it to… if you manage to get the information from Sherlock and cause a bit of mayhem in the government, I won't charge you a dime. So, be good."

"Oh, I'll be good… but really, I cannot accept this. I am a business woman myself, Mr Moriarty, and I really don't want to be in your debt." Suddenly, her eyes started to glow. "If you however don't want any money… How about pleasure, then? A session with me?"

"So that you can blackmail me afterward?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dare to. This is me saying thank you for… guiding me." She slid down from the armchair and knelt in front of him, her hand on his knee, "Believe me, you will not regret it."

Jim didn't react to the touch, "As I told you before, I have been… whipped quite a number of times. Believe it or not, I used to be some sort of a sub. There's really nothing you could do that could surprise me in that area. And I've changed sides now. Now I am the one with the whip in my hand."

She moved her hand to his, "Oh, I am sure I could surprise you. And even if not: It would be entirely for your pleasure, and what man could ever say 'no' to a night of pain and pleasure?" Her voice turned into a whisper, "Give in to me, James. Let loose. Let me mark this delicate skin…" She turned her head and bit into his hand, once, soft.

Jim couldn't hide the fact that her words went straight through him. She was beautiful, she was special… she was intoxicating. She had a way with words. And while his brain told him to be careful, the animal inside him felt like devouring and being devoured. He freed his hand from her teeth and cupped her chin, "I will visit you tonight. If this is a cheap trick, I will strangle you with the very rope you intend to tie me up with, are we clear on that?"

"Yes... I will be waiting for you…"

* * *

It was already dark outside when Irene opened the door to Jim, "Mr Moriarty. Glad you could visit." Then her eyes rested on the person next to him. "And who is this beautiful lady?"

"Miss Adler… This is my associate, Miss Moran. I hope you don't mind, but she will make sure you're not trying to betray me."

"Oh, and here I was hoping she would join in the fun… Well, maybe next time. Please, go to my bedroom and get ready. I'll be with you in a second. May I offer you something to drink, Miss Moran?"

Sorcha shook her head, "No, thanks, Miss Adler. But maybe Jim…"

"Oh don't worry, he'll have enough to lap up once we've started…" She gave Jim a smile and left.

Jim turned to Sorcha, his hand in a vice-like grip around her upper arm, "Okay, you listen to me now. I want you in front of her bedroom door. I want you to listen what happens. And I want you to stay outside, unless you hear my safe-word. If you barge in before that for whatever reason, I will make you go through so much pain you won't remember your name anymore. Any questions?"

"Jim, please… I don't think I can handle that… listening to you having… with her…" She couldn't even bring herself to look at him. "Please let me go. I'll call Sebastian…"

"No. This is your punishment. You will stand here, you will listen. Look at me." She raised her head only slightly. He could see she had cried, probably since he had told her what he would do, earlier this day. "You deserve it. It's time you learn that you are mine, and that you follow my orders. And it's time you learn that I don't love you, and I never will. And apparently this is the only way I can make it clear to you. Now, repeat my safe-word to me."

She could barely answer, her voice thick with tears again, "Sempre libera."

"Exactly." He let go of her arm and brought his lips to her front, whispering, "Be a good girl, Sorcha. Accept your punishment." A soft kiss to her temple. "I'll be back later. Enjoy the show." He entered the bedroom and closed the door.

A minute later, Irene arrived, "Well, if that isn't a sight for sore eyes…"

* * *

Jim had never liked being tied up. It reminded him too much of that one night he had spent tied up in the basement while his mother's new husband had violated her all night long. And all the times his clients had tied him up didn't really help. He hated giving up control. Or, at least his brain did. The moment Irene fastened one end of the silk scarf around his right wrist and the other end to the bed post, and proceeded to do the same with his left hand, he felt the familiar prickling on his neck.

Irene tested the knots, "Very good. Now, Mr Moriarty, I will not gag you, because I am sure you and the elf outside have made out a safe-word, and I wouldn't want to worry her. I will, however, blindfold you. And then…" She chuckled, "Well, be surprised…" She ran the back of her index finger over his cheek before she moved away from him. A minute later, she came back with a woollen scarf. "Lift your head for me." As he did, she wrapped the scarf around his head so that it covered his eyes and nose, feeling his nostrils with her scent. Jim tried to figure out the scent. Perfume… roses… and something special. Her own scent, perhaps. Every breath he took filled his brain with that scent. And hell, it went straight down to his genitals. And she hadn't even got started properly. Now he could feel her buttoning down his shirt, exposing his chest. "Mhm… very nice, I have to admit." She ran her fingers over his ribcage, tracing every rib, then moving her fingers down his happy trail. He could feel as she opened the button and zipper of his trousers and slid them down his legs. His pants followed. "Will you look at that, now? Somebody is already excited…" And oh, he was.

* * *

Sorcha didn't know whether every dominatrix had a loud, booming voice like Irene Adler, whether Jim had told her to be loud, or if it just sounded loud to her because she had her ear glued to the door. Sorcha knew she was hoping that Irene would betray Jim, so she could barge in, drag the woman off Jim's delicious body by her hair, and slap her face so hard the bruises would remain forever. But it didn't sound like she was. In fact, Irene Adler sounded rather excited. Of course, why wouldn't she; Jim was perfect, in his small and dark ways. Sorcha had caught herself wanting to kiss every inch of him more than once. And his smell, delicious, his taste, incomparable. And now she was having all of that, and all Sorcha could do was listening to how she would enjoy it. And she had to listen, of course, she had to, because any second Jim could utter the safe-word and she had to get in and save him. And there was no way she could leave him alone.

And then he started moaning.

* * *

Jim could barely think when Irene started to work her magic on him. With his hands tied, his most valuable sense cut off, all he could do was focus on her, how she took him between her lips and swirled her tongue against his member, her smell everywhere. She was an expert, brought him to his climax in the matter of minutes, but then suddenly stopped. Denial. He used to be used to it. Women never denied him, but Sir Steven had more often than not. And now, Irene Adler was playing the exact same game. But Jim wasn't used to it anymore now.

"Mr Moriarty… I don't think I allowed this…" Her voice sounded hoarse, as she ran her finger along his penis and then brought it to his lips. "Taste it. Tell me how it tastes…"

"Bitter…" Jim could hardly utter the words.

"Indeed… very bitter… Now… as I said I don't think I allowed you to spread your bitterness all over my sheets. I think a punishment is required, here…" He could feel her lips next to his ear, "I normally wouldn't ask, but you are a special case… how much can you take?"

"Lady… you have no idea…" he managed to say.

He could feel the nails digging into his flesh when she breathed, "Well, that sounds promising…"

* * *

There were many sounds Sorcha Moran didn't like. People crying. Chinese opera singers. Chinese throat singers. There were also many sounds she hated. Screeching brakes on the tube wagons. Nails on blackboards. Sebastian singing. Cats screaming in agony. Animals screaming in agony in general.

But there was one sound she loathed with passion.

James Moriarty screaming in pain.

And that was what he was doing just now.

Sorcha had to admit there was a fine line between pleasure and pain. Having shared beds, kitchen tables, sofas, elevators and many other places in passionate moments with Jim Moriarty, she knew that better than most people. Jim wasn't much of a tender lover, and sometimes when it had gotten especially kinky, she had been the one walking that fine line. And she had loved it.

But she was sure she had never once screamed out like he just did. Pain, agony, now, that wasn't supposed to happen.

But the next sound was even worse.

The moment pleasure took over, and it was reflected in his screams.

And all the hopes Sorcha had, that he would scream out his safe-word, just vanished.

* * *

It lasted for hours on end. It was already dawn outside when Jim got out of the room again. The drive home was silent, with Sorcha looking out of the window, trying to hide the tears, while Jim was trying hard to not sit on his buttocks.

He had to admit he had enjoyed it. Being at the mercy of this woman was well worth his butt hurting like it did. The sex had been awesome when he finally been allowed to get inside of her.

Yet, something was missing. And Jim knew what it was.

He had spent most of his youth having sex with people that didn't care for him or his pleasure. Now, Irene had cared for his pleasure, and she had done a good job. Still, it had a business feeling to it Jim only knew too well, and he had hated it. She had cared for his pleasure, but not for him. Of course, why would she? But someone else did. And that someone was looking out of the window to hide her tears.

He turned his head to her, "How are you feeling?"

"Do you care?" her voice was still thick.

"I told you I would punish you for what you did. This was not meant to be a happy time for you."

"Very well, _Sir_."

He smiled, "_Sir? _It's been a while since you last called me that. Look, Sorcha, you did something bad, I had to punish you. I could have chosen to hurt you physically, but I decided to be nice."

"Well, Jim, you weren't." she turned her head. "You might think that this was nice. Not scarring me for life. But that's only because you have no fucking idea. I heard you, the man I love, having sex with a prostitute, being beaten up by a prostitute. You think that was nice? Well, no, it wasn't. But it certainly did fulfill its purpose. Now, please… just leave me alone."

"I told you I will never love you."

"Well, I just can't turn it on and off like a tab. Believe me, I would have."

"I see." He looked out of the window again. "Are you going to tell Sebastian?"

"And having him castrate you for doing this to his sister? Of course not. I'll just rather forget about it as soon as I can. Please, be quiet now."

Jim didn't say another word. But it got him thinking; had he really no idea? He had loved people. His mother, for instance. And Marlon Brooke had used his mother to hurt him. Had abused and violated her to deal a blow to Jim's soul. And he, Jim, had done the same. He could have had sex with any woman out there to punish Sorcha, but he deliberately choose one that he knew would hurt him, make him scream, and he had forced Sorcha to listen. He didn't know what had hurt her more; the fact that she had to listen to him having sex, having fun with another woman, or the fact that she had to listen to him being in some sort of pain. But with their history… Marlon Brooke, Carl Powers… Yes, it could only be that.

"She didn't hurt me for real, you know." She didn't answer. He watched her, her hand moving up to her face in regular intervals. "I'm becoming just like him."

"No, you're not. I fucked up, I deserved being punished."

"Of course. But apparently I took it too far. What can I do to… make you feel at least a bit better?"

"Trust me again." Not _Love me. _Maybe she wasn't as delusional as he had always thought.

"Okay. And to show how much I trust, I'll let you handle this. Watch this woman for me. Mycroft will soon be involved, I bet, and I want you to know everything."

For the first time since they got on the car, she really looked at him, "You said you wouldn't be involved with anything that could get Mycroft's attention."

_And we are back at the beginning… _"Don't worry, I don't plan having his focus on me. Much too busy dealing with Sherlock. Mycroft won't know about me if you're doing a good job, princess."

Sweet-talking. It always worked. Sorcha was so happy that Jim apparently wasn't angry anymore that she took what he offered with both hands; the little nagging thought inside her head that told her he was just playing her was ignored for now. "Okay, I will do my very best."

"I didn't expect anything less of you."

* * *

Thanks to Sovor for reviewing.


	9. We're living in a powder keg

**Wow, guys, thank you SO much for your reviews, they really made my day after that dry spell. I totally loved all of them. Of course I will continue!  
**

**Disclaimer: **see Prologue**  
**

**Title: **taken from Bonnie Tyler's _Total Eclipse of the heart_**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Eight: We're living in a powder keg and giving of sparks**

Jim left Sorcha to do most of the work as he watched from far away. It was much easier this way. With Sorcha so close to Mycroft, there was a constant flow of information that Jim actually had to select the one that could be valuable.

One that proved rather valuable was the one that Sorcha gave him early on New Year's Eve, "So, apparently, if you believe Adler, Sherlock in fact can appreciate a woman's body. Apparently he got her measurements by only looking at her."

"So, what, I can manage that. 32-24-34."

"Yeah, thank you for reminding me you saw her naked. Anyways, you've seen naked women before, whereas I believe he hasn't."

"What makes you think that? Isn't he a poster-boy for sexy?"

"Well, I might be the wrong woman to tell you that, since I like my man small and wicked." It elicited a chuckle from Jim. "Anyways, remember that little device you gave me? The microphone? I planted it on Mycroft's friend Harry before they went to Buckingham Palace, and there was this nice conversation where Mycroft basically told his brother that he doesn't know shit about sex. He was actually really mean."

Jim put his phone down, "Really… that's interesting… What do you think?"

"About what?"

"Sherlock having sex?"

She thought about it, "He knows how to play women, I mean, you remember Molly… And Irene told me he was actually somehow… bothered by her nakedness. But then again, this could very well just be the animal inside him. It's really hard to tell… What do you think?"

Jim leaned back and bit his lower lip, "I have no idea. Come to think about, I don't know anything about him, really… Apart from the obvious. That he and Mycroft don't get on. But I never thought Mycroft would say such things to him. I mean, they're brothers. You would never say in public Sebastian is a slag."

"In fact I do, but apparently "slag" impresses women more than "virgin". Anyways, do you really think there is more to know about Sherlock than what you know already?"

"Apparently… I mean, this is rather interesting, this dynamics between Mycroft and Sherlock." Jim scratched his head, "What is Irene doing now?"

"Still playing possum. Those Americans are being rather… persistent. Can't you just kill them off?"

"No. That would tell Mycroft Irene and I are involved. Has Sherlock cracked the passcode yet?"

"Not that I know of. But how big are the chances, really? Unless she used some kind of a code that's not completely random, he will never find it. And she's too smart to use a code he could crack."

"He cracked the one on her safe."

"After she told him she had told him the code already. Jim, he needs her. If you want him to crack that crazy code from the picture, you need to bring her back from death." Sorcha put away her folder. "What is your plan, now?"

Jim leaned back and stared at the ceiling, "Tell Adler to stop playing possum and get Sherlock to crack that code. And text me the information immediately."

"Okay. What do I do?"

"Nothing, just make sure you supply her with everything she could possibly need."

"Will do. Anything you need?"

Jim closed his eyes, "A bottle of champagne. It's New Year's Eve after all…"

"And you want to celebrate it with a bottle of champagne?"

"Yes. A bottle of champagne, you and your brother."

She frowned, "That's a first… But yeah, okay, I'll just call Adler, tell her to tell Sherlock she's not dead, and then I'll go and get us some… champagne…." She shook her head and left.

* * *

Later that night, Jim and Sorcha shared a bottle of champagne while Sebastian had beer. But it wasn't nearly as calm as New Year's Eve was generally supposed to be if you were over thirty.

Jim was very interested in the latest twist in his case, "So, he threw the guy out of a window?"

"Yeah. A few times. Never thought he was strong enough to carry the guy upstairs so many times."

"Pass me the bottle, Sorcha, will you?" Jim took a sip from it. "That's very interesting indeed. So, the Americans are really interested in what's on that phone. I hope Sherlock will find it out…"

"Why can't you find it out? You've seen it." Sorcha asked, and Jim could see from Sebastian's look that he had the very same question on his mind.

He shrugged, "As I've told Adler, I know what it is. I really do. I just don't know what to do with it. It's an airline seat allocation number. But I don't know what flight, or what is so important about it. Although I ruled some airlines out, I don't know what it is. You don't know either, do you?" The question was directed at Sorcha. "If MoD is involved, I'm sure Mycroft knows about it, too?"

She shook her head, "No, I don't. I am currently dealing with parking tickets and dog leftovers and, if I'm having a really good day, I can order the cleaning ladies around to clean the cells where they've tortured some Afghan suspects. Or Iraqi. I don't even know who's being tortured."

"In your building?" Sebastian frowned.

"That, I don't know either. But I've got camera access to the building in question."

Jim took another sip from the bottle, "Did you ever watch?"

"Nope. If I wanted to watch some poor sod being tortured, I'd stay at home with you. Now, it's New Year's Eve, can we please talk about something else? Or just drink? Hand me that bottle back, boss."

* * *

The next day, Jim left his flat early. The first of January was a day he particularly liked. The city was normally calm as people recovered from the binge drinking and the fireworks. He had left Sebastian in charge of business, while Sorcha had managed to drag herself to work, clearly hung-over and unable to do any serious work. Now he was walking past Big Ben, watching the people on Hunger Strike. Hunger Strike. What were they even fighting for? Bobby Sands had something to fight for. Had they? It had to be something serious. Jim knew what it was like to be famished, what, with that bastard Marlon Brooke locking him up in cellar with only a slice of days-old bread and some water. And now, he had spent the night drinking champagne, eating lobsters and crabs and Angus steak (who would have known Sebastian could give Jamie Oliver a run for his money?). Wow, he had come a long way. And now, he was stuck. Okay, playing with Sherlock was still funny, but Jim knew himself well enough to know he would get bored again, soon. And then? What was the next step? Going back to play with the boring people and their boring problems? Oh God, that sounded like hell. Half a year had passed since that show-down at the pool, and it had been funny watching Adler play with Sherlock, but now it was coming to an end. If Sherlock found out what the code was about, Adler could make her demands, and she would be gone soon. He had to plan ahead, plan something new…

And then his phone buzzed. A text from Adler. _747 TOMORROW_ _6.30PM_ _HEATHROW__._

He smiled. So, he had been right about the plane. Funny. But considering that, this information was not really valuable. Apart from the fact that he now knew the exact time and place. He checked the flight. Heathrow to Baltimore. Okay, so the plane went to America. That could explain the involvement of the Americans. But what was so important about that flight that the Americans cared so much? No, not the Americans, the CIA….

He made a call, "Ahmed? It's Jim Moriarty. Listen…" And as he talked with Ahmed, one of the big fish in London when it came to planning attacks from inside Europe, he suddenly started to smile. Some of the pieces were suddenly fitting.

Ahmed's people had planned to sabotage the flight. With a bomb, or whatever, Jim hadn't really paid attention anymore. Somehow the US or the UK had found out about it, and the MoD had tried to do something about it. That wasn't everything there was to know, but it was enough to know that Adler would probably never have to worry about money or safety again. Case closed.

He scrolled through his phonebook to look up Sorcha's number when suddenly he stumbled upon another phone number. Mycroft Holmes. He had at some point snatched Sorcha's phone and copied every single number she had of Mycroft Holmes.

He smiled as his fingers danced over the touchscreen of the HTC. _Jumbo Jet. Dear me, Mr Holmes, dear me_. Again, his eyes landed on Big Ben. _Hello Mycroft. Come and get me_.

* * *

Sorcha got home late that night. Jim had curled up on the couch, fast asleep. She smiled as she put her bag on the floor, slowly. His suit jacket, shoes and socks were spread carelessly on the floor, his tie loosened, as were the first few buttons of his shirt. He looked so innocent. She watched him for a few seconds, before she walked over to his bedroom to get his duvet from the bed. It was freezing outside, and crazy was lying on the couch with naked feet…

He stirred when she put the blanket over him, "Mhmfp…"

"It's okay, it's me. Go back to sleep, Jim."

He closed his eyes again, "You're late…"

"I know. I had to stay at work, order plane tickets for Sherlock, and bring Mycroft a brandy when he got back. Really, I stayed at work late to bring Mycroft a brandy. He asked me to bring the bottle. Now go back to sleep, Jim." She planted a kiss on his cheek. "I'm heading home."

"No, it's late and it's snowing… can't let you drive like that… where's your brother?"

"Last time I saw him he was with a ginger girl…"

Jim nodded and lifted the blanket a bit. "Stay here. 's cold. Need warmth."

"I'd love to. Let me just get rid of my…"

"…clothes…"

"I was going to say coat. I'll be right back. Sleep, Jim." She got up and walked back into the bedroom. Jim stored some of her and Seb's clothes in his bedroom in case of emergencies. And when it came to Sorcha, Jim feeling cold and needing her body heat was an emergency.

Her phone buzzed. She picked it up, "Sorcha Moran?"

"Sorcha, this is Irene Adler."

Sorcha was alert in an instant. The woman, the woman, was crying. "Irene, what happened?"

"I.. I… need help. Sherlock cracked the code to my phone. He has seen everything, everything is now in Mycroft's hands… I'm completely without protection… they will kill me, Sorcha… I need to disappear, please, get Jim to help me."

Sorcha sighed; she had hoped to never see the woman again.

And then… she smiled. "Don't worry, Irene. Let's not bother Jim with this, he is a busy man. I'll help you."

"Really?" Hope in her voice.

"Of course. Listen, it would be best if you left London. You know, with Mycroft being on your tracks, and all these Americans and stuff, you should be far away from here as fast as you can."

"I agree…"

"Okay, this might sound weird to you, but I'd recommend…Karachi. Pakistan."

"Why?"

"Is there any better place for a woman to hide than behind a veil?"

She seemed to think about it, "No, probably not. So, Karachi?"

"Yeah. I'll book the tickets, they'll be ready at the airport. Don't pack anything. Not even your phone. Nothing must be traced back to you."

"Of course… Oh, Sorcha, how can I thank you and Jim?"

"Be safe, Irene." She hung up and dialled another number, "Yasir? This is Sorcha Moran. I need you to make somebody disappear for me. Irene Adler. She'll be coming with the next plane. I'll mail you the details. Why? Because I can…"

She hung up again. Well, that would get her a one-way-ticket to hell… But Mycroft would be on her tail soon, and if he got her, he would torture her, and she knew too much about Jim. Frankly, she was just protecting Jim.

And her giving the order to kill Irene had nothing to do with the fact that the woman had had sex with her Jim.

* * *

Sebastian Moran was home early enough the next morning to see his sister cuddled up to Jim on the couch. He rolled his eyes and slammed the door loudly, which caused her to fall off the couch and race to Jim's bedroom to hide.

Jim sat up straight and robbed his eyes, "Why do you have to be so loud again? Don't they call you "tiger" because you can move like a cat?"

"No, they call me 'tiger' because I can rip throats out with my teeth. Want me to show you?"

"Nothing happened."

"Yeah, tonight, nothing happened."

"You know what, you're actually worse than Katniss Everdeen…" Jim leaned back and sighed. "Sebastian, I plan to go on a vacation." Vacation. Funny word. "I will leave you in charge of my business. You think you can do that?"

Sebastian shrugged, "Of course. Where you're going?"

"Don't know." That was the truth. I don't know where they're gonna take me.

"Oookay… And when?"

"Don't know." But it won't take Mycroft long to get everything ready.

"So, basically, you know nothing. For somebody who runs a business that's build on planning everything ahead a few steps you're pretty clueless about this."

"I'm being spontaneous, Sebbie. Just promise me you will take care of things here when I leave."

"Of course, Jim." Sebastian walked over to the kitchen and prepared coffee. "So, anything that needs special observation?"

"Nothing whatsoever. This is why I'm leaving. You should have a few calm weeks ahead." Jim watched Sebastian. The man was good. His business wouldn't suffer from his absence. And he was sure it would be a long "vacation". The text to Mycroft had been in-the-heat-of-the-moment, but since then, he had planned.

The first thing he had done was to make sure that Mycroft knew who was in charge. He had told Irene to send the Holmes Boys his love. Then he had called Ahmed again, and told him about the plane, that he had been the one to stop the plane from taking off. Ahmed had threatened him with a slow and very torturous death, involving pitch capping and limb amputations, tongue cutting and burning the eyes right out of his face. Until Jim had told him how he had known about the plane.

Of course he didn't mention Adler's help. He had been all secretive and mysterious, but at some point apparently Ahmed had figured out that Jim had something that could get him any information he needed. Jim had said nothing, but had asked him not to tell anybody. When Jim hung up he was sure Ahmed would tell his cell about it. And if one cell knew, another would soon find out, and if Mycroft took his time, in the matter of a week everybody would know about a certain something Jim Moriarty possessed that could get him anything he wanted.

No wonder he had been so tired he had fallen asleep on the couch.

Now, he was preparing his absence. Sebastian knew about the vacation. He would tell Sorcha when the day came. If he told her now there was always a chance she would use one of these fancy GPS trackers they used for spying on Sherlock and put in in his shoe sole or something. He would have to make sure she didn't suspect anything. She had learned too much over those last few years.

"Jim, are you listening? I asked if you're hungry?"

Jim breathed out, "Yes."

"Bacon?"

"Yes, please…" Eat while you can.

* * *

And ten days later, they came for him.

* * *

**Oh no. Poor Jim. **


	10. There's only one above ya

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
**

**Title: from Angie Stone's _Brotha_, feat. Eve and the incredible Alicia Keys.  
**

**Warning: Violence ahead.  
**

**It's Sebbie's time to shine.  
**

* * *

**C****hapter Nine: There's only one above ya**

"How often do I have to tell you, Sorcha, he's on vacation!" Sebastian, currently hunched over one of Jim's folders, felt like he was telling her the same thing for about the… gazillionth time.

"Where?"

"I don't know, Sorcha. Just like I didn't knew all the others times you've asked me."

"Well, then find it out. Call him."

"His mobile phone is here. Look." He motioned to the HTC lying on the desk. "I cannot contact him. This is why they call things like this a vacation. Now, please go and… shop for shoes." He went back to the folder when she snatched it out of his hand. "Okay, give me that back."

"No, Sebastian, I will not give that back to you. I've been working with Jim for almost ten years now. He never leaves without giving us a possibility to call him when we need him. He loves his empire too much. Now, find out where he is or I will be very angry."

Sebastian couldn't help but grin, "Oh, will you? What are you going to do, hit me with a pillow?"

She tilted her head, "You're not taking me seriously? Remember who got Adler killed?"

"And you would kill me, too?" Sebastian was getting more amused by the second. "I'd like to see you try." He hadn't even properly finished chuckling when she had taken the letter opener and driven it into the table, right next to his right index finger. "What the… are you crazy? You could have cut me! This is what I make my money with!"

"I would have if I had intended to. Now, go, and look for Jim, or next time, you'll be losing a nail. And then a finger."

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, "Sorcha, what do you want me to do? He told me he was going on vacation. He told me he didn't know where to yet."

"Did he really say that? That he didn't know where to go yet?"

"Yes, he…" Oh dear. "No, he just said he didn't know."

"Sebastian…."

"Sorcha, that doesn't mean anything."

"But it could…"

"Oh, don't go all Sherlock on me, Sorcha. He just didn't know where to go yet. He's probably in Dublin."

She shook her head, "He's not, Sebastian. Something's wrong. Something's not okay. And if you don't look into it, I will."

He grabbed her wrist, "No. Okay, I will look into it. Promise. You keep a low profile. Promise?"

She nodded, "Okay. But if I find out you're not being thorough…"

"I will. Now go out, I need to concentrate."

* * *

When she had left, Sebastian noticed that she had actually just said out aloud those words that he had been thinking for about a week now. _Something's wrong. Something's not okay. _It had taken her constant nagging to make him realize that James Moriarty never had gone on a vacation since they were working together. Week-end trips, yeah. And he had always taken his phone with him.

And now the HTC was lying abandoned on the desk.

It was Jim's alright. It was turned off. Sebastian turned it on. Password Protected. Four spaces. And only three attempts at cracking it. Now, Jim would never use his birthday. A random number it had to be. Ten thousand combinations possible. If Jim didn't want them to find out the code.

Then again… Things that Jim didn't want to be discovered were usually hidden away. The phone had been lying on the folder Sebastian had been going through on the first day of Jim's absence. And the folder had been lying on the desk. With a note.

_Sebbie, this might get sticky. If you don't hear from me within the next two months, take over. _

_It was nice meeting you last time. –JM_

Sebastian had thought he meant the folder. Some case, Sebastian had been digging into it, and he was prepared if it ever got sticky. Not that it looked like it.

But what if the note had not concerned the folder? What if it had concerned the situation rather than the client?

And suddenly, he knew Sorcha was right. _Something is wrong._

_Something is not okay. _

Sebastian got up, locked the door from the inside, and started searching the flat. After an hour, he was positive that the only things missing were a suit, tie, shirt, shoes, keys and his coat. So all the things he would wear to go outside, but nothing more.

He hadn't packed…

Sebastian sat down on the bed and looked around, trying to figure out what had happened. Nothing gave him any clues.

He walked back to the desk and took the phone in his hand. This phone, Jim's beloved HTC, was the only thing he didn't take. And he always had it on him. Always… except for the days before he left. Sebastian had seen the phone lying on Jim's bed. When he himself was outside. Which had never happened before.

Sebastian nodded as he understood. Jim had left a clue, and it was in the phone. And he hadn't taken the phone with him all those days before he had left because… Sebastian was supposed to find the clue. And because if the phone went missing the clue would be gone.

Which meant that Jim had expected to disappear. Well, of course he had. He had told Sebastian about the vacation. But he had no clue when he would. Really, no clue.

Sebastian felt his knees go weak when he realized to what all these… deductions?... would lead to. There was only one conclusion to draw from his observations.

Jim had been taken from them.

And the phone would tell him who did it.

Sebastian weighed it in his hands. Oh God, all those people and their phones. The Pin Code. What could it be? Random numbers… Ten thousand possible combinations. And no clue.

No, that was wrong. There had to be a clue, somewhere. Jim always planned ahead. Sebastian was just unable to find it. But Jim would have left it here for him…

_It was nice meeting you last time. -JM _

That was it. That was the clue. That sentence was just too… weird. Last time. When had they met last time? Sebastian's finger hovered over the touchscreen as he typed. _0901._ Two days before Jim had left.

And the phone unlocked.

Sebastian couldn't believe his luck. He could read Jim's clues. Damn, he was good. Jim would be proud.

Sebastian checked the inbox. Texts from Sorcha. What the….? Sexting. He would have to talk to her. And Jim. This was… disgusting.

And then he found it.

From January 1st.

_Jumbo Jet. Dear me, Mr Holmes, dear me_.

Sebastian checked the phone number. _Mycroft Holmes. _Mycroft Holmes. The git had texted Mycroft Holmes. Sebastian had no idea what the text meant, but it sounded important.

And now Jim was gone. Missing. Had disappeared.

Sebastian put the phone away and buried his face in his hands. "Oh God, Jim, you idiot. What have you done?"

Mycroft Holmes had Jim Moriarty abducted.

Jim Moriarty was in the hands of the British government.

The most dangerous man strutting this planet was in the hands of his most powerful enemy.

And there was nothing Sebastian could do.

He breathed a few times. Breathe in. Breathe out.

_You're a fucking soldier, Sebastian Moran. Soldier up. There must be something you can do. Something. Jim would not sit here. When you were missing, he got out on the street and tried to find you. And he found you. Now, find him._

* * *

It took him an hour to figure out a strategy. He had gone over his options carefully. Normally he would go and ask around. But time was precious here. Sebastian knew what _they_, the men that did the dirty work for the government, could do to a human being. And, despite what everyone seemed to think, Jim was human. And he could break. So, there was no time to waste. He needed answers, and he needed them fast: when exactly had Jim been abducted? Where had he been taken? Where were they keeping him?

Who could answer all these questions?

And then Sebastian remembered something Jim had said. About Sherlock's eyes and ears all over the city. The "Homeless Network", a bunch of dossers that helped Sherlock when he needed information, in exchange for some money. Jim had mentioned it when the Golem had told them he had been watched.

Well, if they had information that Sherlock considered valuable, they might have some for Sebastian too.

He went to where the Golem had hidden, and found what he was looking for. A young woman. She asked him for change. He handed her a £5 note and started chatting with her, casually, that he was looking for his friend and feared he might have gotten in trouble. After about ten minutes, he knew where he had to go. The girl had heard from friends that some guy had been chatted up by three rather tall men in suits, and guided to a car with tinted windows in a street close to Picadilly Circus. He laughed and said his friend surely wasn't that important to have James Bond and his merry men coming for him, but thanked her nevertheless.

And then he struck. He grabbed the first homeless person he could see hanging around on Picadilly. As he dragged the man into a quiet street hand clamped over his mouth, he knew this guy was one of Sherlock's people. Why else would he carry a mobile phone with him? Sebastian had seen him making a call with it. He had to be careful. Not mentioning who he was looking for.

He locked the man's arms behind his back, pinned him against the wall of a house and said, "Okay, you listen to me now: I don't mean to harm you, but I need information, and I think you are the one who could give it to me."

"I don't know anything." His voice was quavering.

Sebastian tightened his grip around the man's wrists, "I'm sure you do. I know for a fact that people like you rarely change their territory. And I know that a few days ago three men in suits abducted a man here. Small, black hair, black coat. I want to know everything you have seen, and don't, I repeat, don't try to fool me. Now, _what_ did you see?"

"I didn't see anything, sir, I swear… please don't hurt me…"

"Then answer my questions. _What_ did you see?"

"I didn't… AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" He screamed.

Sebastian twisted the finger he had just broken, "Still nothing?"

"Please, sir…" Another crack, another scream. "Sir, I…." _Crack!_

"You still have seven more fingers I could break. Ten toes. And when I have broken them all, I can easily cut off finger by finger, toe by toe. Wouldn't be the first time I do something like this, and believe me, I will not lose a moment of sleep over it, so you had better tell me what you have seen…" Sebastian focused on the next finger. "Scream all you like. Picadilly is loud enough so people won't hear you, even here in this street. I can do this for hours. Can you?" _Crack!_

The homeless man whimpered, "Please… I don't… know… There were three guys…. Sunglasses, suits… and they talked to him… and he got into their car…"

"Did they hurt him?"

"No… no… just talking…"

"What car was it?"

"Black one… Bentley… I think…"

It confirmed what Sebastian knew. The government. And Jim knew they were coming for him. He went with them, without even trying to flee. _Jim, do you have any idea what's waiting for you?_

"In what direction did the car leave?"

"I don't know…" _Crack! _"South!"

"See, that wasn't too hard now, was it?" Sebastian let go of the man and patted his cheek. "Now, I don't think I have to tell you that you have never seen me. If somebody asks, you tripped." He pulled out a few notes and stuffed them into the man's coat. "Go to a hospital. As soon as you wake up." He smashed the man's head against the wall. He slid down the wall.

Sebastian put him in the recovery position, rubbed his hands, and walked around the corner.

And was face to face with three bobbies.

* * *

Sorcha was lying curled up on the couch, her nose buried in Jim's pillow when a phone rang. It took her a few seconds to realize it was the emergency phone.

It had been Jim's idea. These phones were to be called only in absolute emergencies. They were old-school phones, no internet access so nobody could hack it. Jim as well as Sorcha and Sebastian carried one of these. Once the phone had been called, the SIM card was to be destroyed, and another one was to be used.

And now the phone rang.

As soon as she realized it, she dashed to her handbag and brought the phone out with trembling fingers, "James?"

"No, it's me."

"Bastian, where are you?"

"Custody. Listen, I only have this one phone call, so you need to arrange everything from here on. Just wanted to tell you that."

"What happened?"

Sebastian sounded dizzy, "I tried to find out… something. It… got a little out of hand. I broke some guy's fingers for information. I got caught. I'm sorry."

"Did you…?"

"No." Sebastian, on the other end of the line, closed his eyes. This was the first time ever he had lied to his sister. But if she knew where Jim was, she would get reckless, she would try to save him, when nothing could save him. And now Sebastian wasn't out to protect her anymore. It was just her now. Her, and an empire to rule. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, Bastian, I'll get you out of there."

"They'll bring me to Pentonville. I think they might never let me go again." He didn't say what Sorcha knew he wanted to say. _Not if Jim cannot help me. _

"It'll be alright, Bastian. I'll take care of this. Don't tell them anything."

"Sure as hell I won't. You know what you have to do. And what you must not do. Bye, si… Sorcha."

"Bye, Bastian."

As soon as Sebastian had hung up, Sorcha destroyed the SIM card. Then she poured herself a large glass of brandy.

Sebastian in custody. And it was her fault. She had all but forced him to do something about the situation. And he had gone and tortured somebody for information. "Oh, Bastian…" She tended to forget what a brilliant man her brother was. The man would give his life for Jim and her. And now he was in custody, would be sent to Pentonville. Finally the British Government had Sebastian Moran. The man they had been looking for for so long. The man who had tortured civilians in Afghanistan, who had brought shame upon the British military. They would lock him up in a darkened cell and throw away the key.

All because of her.

And they were no closer to getting Jim, the only one who, at this point, could save Sebastian.

It was over. There was nothing left to do.

_You know what you have to do._

Keep the Empire running.

_And what you must not do._

Look for Jim.

This was the most horrible night in Sorcha Moran's life.


	11. Caught in the middle

I am very sad. A story I read has been completed today. The most brilliant story ever.

**Disclaimer: See Prologue**

**Title: taken from Mike Oldfield's _Moonlight Shadow_  
**

**_Warning: Violence.  
_**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Caught in the middle of a hundred and five**

_Lost ten pounds? Check. _

_Skin? Bad. About six zits in two weeks? Check? Not even puberty was that bad. _

_Eyes? Puffy. Need to think of new allergies. Can it be spring already?_

_Other symptoms? Frequent nosebleed. Diarrhoea. Vomiting. _

Sorcha was a wreck. People at work kept asking her if she was alright. She had told them flat out she was pregnant. She could always lose the baby at some point, but it was the only thing that kept their questions at bay.

Two weeks after Sebastian's call, one day, it had gotten particularly bad. She had spent most of the morning in the ladies, and now was hunched over the sink, hair plastered to her head with sweat. No, she couldn't go on like this. She did her best to keep the empire running, and because Jim usually avoided contact with clients, so far nobody had found out he was MIA. But it was only a matter of time till somebody did, and then, what could she do? Nothing. Jim's empire would crumble if he didn't come back soon. Where was he? Why hadn't he come back?

She heard voices in the men's room. Silently, she closed the door; she really didn't need any more concern about her condition. Especially not from Joel and Matthew.

Matthew washed his hands, "No progress whatsoever. Sometimes I think the guy's made of stone. Remember all the others? I think most of them gave in after day five. And now it's been, what, three weeks, and he still doesn't even have a crack in his shell."

"Well, you have seen his body. This is not the first time somebody bloodies him up. I tell you, I've never seen that many scars on one single body. Not even after we were done. Pass me the soap."

"Yeah, agreed, but what else can we do?"

"Well, you heard what the boss said. Time to bring the big guns out. I'd say we take a bat and take it to his knee caps."

"Can't do that. Holmes said no breaking of any extremities. Not yet, at least."

"So, what are we going to do, then?"

"I'd say we go for degrading him first before we try anything physical again. I'm sure the doctor will tell us to leave him alone for a few days. We could use that time and deal a blow to his pride."

"Any ideas?"

"Many. For instance, tell the guard in front of his door to not take him to the lavatories anymore. Heaten up the room, so that he'll be forced to drink. Let him sit in his own piss. And I'd say we strip him. Maybe even put him in a skirt? You, anything?"

"Let's do some research. I'd say we try and do something that he can relate to. Come on, we ruled over the Irish for like… many years. I'm sure we can find something in history that will make him see his place."

"I have a book about that time at home."

"I didn't know you could read."

Silence. Door opening. Door closing. Feet moving away from the toilet.

Sorcha sliding down the wall.

Sorcha burying her face in her hands.

Sorcha sobbing.

_Oh my God. He's here. He's right here. The torture cells are in this building. He was here all the time. _

And then it hit her, full force.

_Oh my God. They are torturing him. Jim is being tortured._

She got up. She had to check.

* * *

She waited till tea time, when everybody gathered in the kitchen, before she logged into the system and checked the cameras.

And then she bit her knuckles to stop herself from screaming out.

There, on cameras 3, 4, 5, and 7, was James Moriarty.

Or so she guessed.

No, that was him. Slumped in the chair, kept upright only by the rope that tied him to it, and the chain that went from the collar he was wearing to the nearest wall. Dressed in clothes that were probably grey when it started but had now accumulated a rather huge amount of rusty coloured stains. She couldn't really see his face, but she was sure it was damaged.

But he was alive. He was alive, and he was here, and for one second only, Sorcha felt the weight drop off her heart.

Now she could do something. Not much. But at least she could go and get new instructions. A little bit of preparations needed to be done.

But tonight, she would be with him again.

* * *

At ten p.m. sharp, she was ready. She had spent the afternoon manipulating the cameras in questions. She had taped Jim the whole afternoon. Not once had he moved. Now, she had about eight hours of movie material of Jim not moving. They would be on loop until she stopped them. Everybody else had left the building. Many of them had told her she should go home, but she had told them with all the hours she had spent in the bathroom this morning, she needed to stay here and catch up.

The only problem was the guard outside Jim's door. But that was solved with a few diluted sleeping pills in his milk. The door itself was no challenge if you had a key.

And then she was inside. She locked the door behind herself again, and shuffled over to the figure on the chair. As she knelt before the chair, she could finally get a look at his face.

_Nose bruised. Not broken. Crusted blood._

_One eye swollen shut, the other bruised. _

_Lips both split. _

_Gash along his hairline. _

She wiped the hair out of his face. It was greasy. Judging from the smell, he hadn't been allowed to shower since he had arrived. Almost three weeks. Oh God, he had been here for so long and she hadn't known. She could have helped him. Maybe. Although she had no idea what she could have done.

She placed her hand on his knee and whispered, "Jim? Can you hear me?" Nothing. "Jim?" She ran her other hand over his cheek. "Jim…"

And suddenly, he opened his good eye, "I… Sora...ka…"

"Yes, it's me."

"Am I home?" _Oh God, when did his voice ever sound so vulnerable before?_

She shook her head, "No, Jim. You're still… here." She had to swallow back tears. What use was she to him if she started crying at the mere sight of him?

The impact of what she said couldn't have been bigger. His good eye opened wide, and, she wasn't too sure, but was there… terror in his eyes? "What are you doing here?"

"You're in the cellar of the building where I work. Don't worry, it's late night, nobody is here, nobody will know I am here. Here, I brought you something to drink." She opened a bottle of water. "I couldn't find the keys to your handcuffs, and you know how bad I am at picking locks…"

"It's okay…"

She let him take small sips, and loosened the collar a bit, "I have to tell you though, they plan on not letting you use the lavatories anymore."

"Figures." He emptied the bottle nevertheless. His voice was a bit steadier when he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I… I heard them talking about you. Well, I didn't know it was you, I just guessed, and then checked on the cameras. And I thought… We were out of our heads with worry."

The corner of Jim's mouth twitched upwards, "You mean, you were, and you annoyed the hell out of your brother… How's he coping with ruling my little empire?"

"He… he's doing fine…" Was she really lying to Jim? But he looked so weak, so vulnerable, she couldn't possibly tell him that Sebastian was jailed, and that Jim's empire was currently without a leader, and that it would probably all soon be crumbling because Sorcha was too worried about Jim…

"You are one hell of a bad liar, Sorcha. And I don't like being lied to…"

She lowered her head, "Sebastian is in Pentonville. They caught him when he tried to beat your location out of a member of Sherlock's 'homeless network'. It's my fault. As you said, I annoyed him so much he went out to find you…" She rested her head on his knee.

Jim only smiled. While Sorcha could be persistent, Sebastian would have never acted just because she was annoying him. He had found the clues and made the deduction. Bless Sebastian, he was smarter than he let on. "It's okay, Sorcha. Don't worry. I'll get him out soon."

"Does that mean you will be with us again, soon?" She looked up and locked eyes with him, hope painted all over her face.

He shook his head, "I have no say in this, Sorcha. It depends entirely on what Mycroft has planned for me."

"Jim, he must have caught you because he thinks you know something. Just… tell him what he wants to know. What's one more client cut loose to you?"

Jim sighed; he couldn't possibly tell her that he needed, wanted, to last until Mycroft would talk to him. Which, as he was well aware of, could take some time. "If I knew what he wanted…"

"They must have told you. They wouldn't just… do this to you…" she ran her fingers over his swollen eye, "…without asking questions."

Jim resisted the urge to let his head rest in her hand, "They have, but I don't know the answers. But they don't believe me. I'll be alright, Sorcha. Trust me."

And unbelievably, she nodded, "Okay… is there something you need? Something I could do for you?"

"You can't do anything for me. They would notice somebody in here is trying to help me. And I would hate to lose the last one capable of ruling my empire… Well, there is something…"

"Yes?"

"You have access to the cameras in here?"

"Yes."

"Don't watch." She frowned. "I am serious, Sorcha. I want you to not watch." He sighed. "I don't think that I'm telling you anything you don't know when I tell you that I am in for some really nasty things. I don't want you to see any of what they're going to do to me. I need you focused out there. You will need to keep up the illusion that I am there, and still in control of things, or else some really nasty people will try and take over what I've created."

"But how will I know if…" She swallowed the end of that sentence.

"If I need something? If I'm still alive?" He chuckled. "Sorcha. I've been through far worse than this. Remember Carl? Remember Brook?"

"This is different, Jim. Carl and Brook, they had no idea what they were doing, they just beat you. The guys here, they are all ex-military. They know how to utterly destroy a human being, Jim. If you had heard what I heard…"

"Sit down on my lap, Sorcha."

"What?"

"You heard me. Sit down. Don't worry. I'm not hurt." Sorcha hesitated, but then sat down. "Now put your head on my shoulder." She did. He rested his head against hers, as much as the collar allowed him to crane his neck, "Now listen. Carl and his gang, when they beat me up, they wanted to destroy me, too." His voice was now barely more than a whisper. "You only know half of the things that happened that night. I never told you that, after Carl hung up on you, he made me lick and kiss his shoes." He could feel her freeze against his shoulder. "And then… they… urinated… on me… all of them…. Eight people." He swallowed. Funny, he thought, how after all these years he was overwhelmed with shame when he even thought of this incident. "It should have been the greatest night in my life, you know. I mean, I just had my first sex with a girl and all… But they ruined it. And every time I run my tongue against my teeth and feel that gap there, I can feel it all over again. And Brook… I am confronted with what he did to me every day when I look into the mirror and see all the scars. And that wasn't the worst. The worst was to hear my mother being tortured by him. You say they weren't out to break me? I beg to differ." He could hear she was sobbing now. "I'm sorry I had to tell you all of this. But I need you to know I will cope. I'll be alright. I don't want you to watch."

"Why?"

"Do I really have to tell you? Look, you're already crying your eyes out when I just _tell_ you what has happened to me twenty years ago. How do you imagine will it be if you are getting a live-stream of me being put through the mangle? You'd drown every single living soul in this building, like Alice when she ate these magic cookies." She actually chuckled. "I don't want to sit here having my bones broken with the mental image of you in tears before my inner eye. It's bad enough as it is."

"Why do you care?"

Yeah, why did he care? Was it the fact that, when he had expected nothing but pain, suddenly she had appeared here? Was it because suddenly it dawned on him that she had always been there, no matter how bad he had treated her over the years? Was it because she was sitting on his lap, her head on his shoulder and not uttering a word of complaint although he himself could smell that he reeked?

"I don't know. I just… I don't want to see you hurt…" She chuckled. "What?"

"It's ironic, don't you think? Chained up like a wild animal, and you've never been that human before…"

_That's not true, Sorcha. There was another time when I was human. When I licked Carl's shoes. To protect you. Oh God, I'm such an idiot. _"Well, being tortured brings out the best in people. I think it's better if you leave now, though. Really, the smell will probably kill you soon. And I'm sure you're not staying because I look so bloody dashing right now."

"Well, what do you say, I like my men the way I like my steaks: still oozing blood." But she got up anyways. "Jim... please, tell them what they want to know." She refastened the collar to its original position. "The house is empty without you throwing tantrums all day long."

"I was going to say the same about you." He hesitated. "Thank you for coming down. I'm sure it wasn't as easy as you make it look. Lots of preparations and all… I appreciate. And when I get back, I will do the naughtiest things imaginable to you. And you will love it."

She smiled and ran her finger of his lower lip, "Just get back safe." She brought the hair she had earlier wiped out of his face back into its original position, "You know what's funny? No matter how bad you reek, I can still somehow smell you behind all that… I just want you to know that, because at one point, you will forget it in here." She leaned in and kissed his lips, just shortly.

Jim fought the urge to bite her lip and thereby force her to stay, "I will remember. Bye, Sorcha."

"Bye, Jim."

"And don't watch."

* * *

It was the second time Sorcha deliberately ignored an order from Jim. He never had to know.

She watched them beat him, slap him, burn him, tug his hair, cut him.

She watched them putting him into every possible stress position they had found in their books, for hours and hours on end, until his face was so scrunched up in pain it was barely recognisable as his.

She watched as they put him into the smallest cell they had, for days, hands tied behind his back, chained to a wall, with no possibility to relieve himself, having to eat and drink from a bowl without the use of his hands.

She watched as they pulled out his nails, counted.

She watched as they broke his finger.

She watched as they shattered his dignity.

* * *

If this has been too fluffy, I apologize. But then again, apparently I am back to writing for myself, so... I like it fluffy.


	12. Me ayuda a pintar transparente el dolor

**Prongs, here's your chapter, as promised :)  
**

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
**

**Title: taken from Shakira's _Lo quiero a morir_  
**

**_Warning: allusions to violence and rape. Rating raised.  
_**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: ****Me ayuda a pintar transparente el dolor**

It took Sorcha a while to get a grip on herself again after what she had seen. That night, she went home, for the first time in a week. She wanted to be with Jim, yes. If it had been up to her, she would have spent the night with him in his cell. But the moment she ran into Matthew, with that smug grin on his face, she knew she had to get out of there, or else she would probably have to smash his teeth in. So she went to Jim's flat. Since she had discovered that he was so close, she had neglected the Empire, and her own brother for that matter. But tonight she would work on that again.

She was just about to put the key in the lock when she noticed the lights were on. Now, she was a bit of obsessive-compulsive, and even though the last weeks had been hell, she would have never left Jim's flat without turning the lights of. Somebody was in there. Somebody… Sorcha slid her hand into the pocket of her trench coat and brought her gun out. _Oh please, let it be one of Mycroft's people. I would love to spill some government blood tonight… _She didn't even bother to be silent when she opened the door. Her arm acted on its own accord when the gun in her hand aimed at the head of the man who was sitting on the couch.

He jumped, "Sorcha, put the gun down!"

"Who are you? And don't lie to me, because I will decorate Jim's desk with your brain if I have to!"

"It's me, Gloria!"

"What?" But then she noticed. Those eyes. Big, blue eyes. "Oh my God." She let the gun sink. "Since when do you dress up as a man?"

"Jim's idea. Before he went on vacation he told me to watch this little friend of his, Sherlock. He said that neither you nor Siegfried could be bothered." Siegfried, Gloria's nickname for Sebastian. If Sorcha had doubted the man in front of her was in fact Gloria, who was in charge of the prostitution business for Jim, this convinced her. "And Jim thought I would get less attention if I don't look like the 60 foot woman. So, it's Daniel tonight. Speaking of, when will he come back? I need new instructions."

Sorcha shook her head, "He doesn't know yet."

"Okay, then where is our blond angel?"

"He's… not here…" _You really are a bad liar, Sorcha. No wonder Jim didn't believe you. _"But I am in charge. I will give you instructions."

"Okay, sweetheart. Well, Sherlock and his cute doctor are on their way to Dartmoor. Do you want me to follow them?"

"What are they doing in Dartmoor?" Sorcha walked to the kitchen. "Care for some tea?"

"Yes please. Well, as far as I've heard, they are chasing a big dog."

"Oh yeah…" Sorcha vaguely remembered having heard about that on the telly. "Yeah, go after them, please. I think that would be in Jim's interest."

"That's coffee, Sorcha. Come on, let me do that." Gloria… No, Daniel today, took the cups from her hands. "You don't look too good, sweetie. Honestly, you need a better concealer. I always told Jim, with the business that he's running, a good concealer is elementary. It can cover up any bruise if you know how to use it, and he does bruise too easily…. Anyways. What has happened? And don't lie to me."

Sorcha shook her head, "I can't talk about it. It's… it's terrible. Jim…"

Daniel tilted his head, "I thought it would be about him. What mess has he gotten himself into this time?"

"The worst ever. Gloria, I don't know what to do anymore."

Daniel got up, "I tell you what we will do. No matter how bad the mess is, he will pull through. Always did. We have to make sure he doesn't come home to a shattered business to go with his… body?" As Sorcha nodded, Daniel sighed, "Poor baby. But I think you, Siegfried and I, we need to keep the business running. Where is your brother, then?"

"Jail."

"Oh." If anything, that shocked Daniel/Gloria more than the fact that Jim was being hurt. "Oh no. My Sebbie… what did he do?"

"Proved his loyalty to Jim."

Daniel smiled, "He is so manly. I tell you, Sorcha, it's a shame he is your brother. You cannot possibly know the effect he has on women."

"Or men?"

"Yeah. I admit, I really dig him. And he can be very gentle."

Sorcha frowned, "You and him?"

"Countless times. Every time he knew he couldn't go home because you and Jim were being nasty in the kitchen, he came to visit me. I always liked the fact that he doesn't care about all this binary gender shit. He's like me; looking to get laid 24/7. And I tell you, he is absolutely…"

"I really don't think I want to hear that…" But Sorcha felt she was smiling. "But thank you for getting my mind off Jim for the first time in… two months…"

"Is that how long Jim's been missing?" As Sorcha nodded, he said, "Well, then he will soon come back."

"How do you know?"

"He will get bored soon. Honestly, do you really think they would have captured him if he hadn't let them?"

Sorcha raised her head at this, "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You are right… Oh, God, I never thought of that… He… he let himself be abducted…" Maybe it was supposed to calm her down, but it didn't. Well, in some sort. If Jim had planned on being abducted, he sure had a plan to get out again…. But if he had… why had he let it come that far? Because he was insane. He had completely lost it. She sighed, "Well, that's at least something to look forward to. After what happened today, I suppose there's not much more they can do to him. So he'll be back with us soon, I guess…"

Daniel got up, "Then I should go and make sure he'll have a silver pattern with Sherlock on it when he comes back. You're going to be alright?" When she nodded, he smiled, "Good. He would probably shoot me if I'll let something happen to you. Good-bye, little one."

"Bye… Daniel."

* * *

A week later, it was already late at night when Sorcha went home to her own place. She was worried. Jim was gone. She had checked every room in the building, but there was no trace of him. In some far corner of her mind, she was panicking. What if they had killed him? No, no, they wouldn't have… or would they? So far nobody had died during interrogation, but… most of them had given up after five days and spilled all the beans. Jim had been in there for two months… And now he was gone. And if he had died, if they had killed him, they would bury him in some grave somewhere in the desert, or maybe on a construction site, and she would never find out if maybe his last words had been _Sorcha, I love you_ after all. She walked up the five flights of stairs (the building had a lift, sure, but somebody had once told her to take the stairs, and he would find out if she didn't and he would spank her so she couldn't sit down properly for one week if she refused his order…), and rummaged through her handbag for her keys. When she arrived on her floor however…

There was Jim. Lying on her doormat, curled into a ball, his head resting against the door, sound asleep…. Or unconscious? She dropped her bag and raced at his side, "Jim! Jim, can you hear me?"

And indeed, he slowly opened his eyes, "Hey there…" A goofy smile, showing one cracked tooth, "Told you I'd come back."

"To my place?"

"It was closer… Can I come in?"

Sorcha frowned, "Of course. Wait, I'll help you up…" She laid his arm around her shoulder and helped him stand up. "Are you hurt?"

"A bit…" But the way he steadied himself on her –oh God, Sorcha had held puppies in her arms that weighed more than him- suggested he was in worse shape than he let on. She carried him over to her bed. He looked around and smiled again, "We're back in Kansas… and no wicked witches anymore…"

Sorcha wondered if he possibly had a concussion when she noticed the small red dot on his neck, "Did they drug you?"

"Jah. Am I being incoherent? They didn't want me to know where I was being held… but you know what?" He brought his face closer to hers, "I knew it all along." And then he grinned. "Because you were there." He let his head sink on the pillow, "I am very tired."

"Then go to sleep. I'll help you undress."

"Don't do naughty things to me while I'm out."

She couldn't help but smile, "I would never. Now, sleep. When you wake up again, we'll look after you." But he was asleep already. She softly caressed his cheek before she started undressing him. His belt was fastened two holes tighter than usual, she noticed. She took off his trousers, his shirt and jacket, and finally his shoes and socks. Then she put a blanket over him and tucked him in. Finally, she planted a kiss on his naked shoulder before curling into a ball on the floor.

* * *

Something was wrong when she woke up. She noticed it immediately. Something had changed.

Jim was lying next to her on the floor. Spooning her, of all things. His leg was draped over both of hers, his arm over her chest, pulling her against his own. His breathing was slow and even. Apparently he had woken up some time during the night, and decided that her bed was way too… whatever, and had decided to trade it for the cold floor. Crazy man. Sorcha closed her eyes again; she knew she had to look after his wounds, but the moment was just too sweet to break it. She, locked in the arms of the man she would kill and die for, his breathing on her neck… Heaven couldn't be much different. So she enjoyed it, savoured every second of it.

* * *

Jim had slept for sixteen hours straight before he started stirring next to her. And Sorcha, although awake most of the time, hadn't moved. Now, as Jim was slowly waking up, she freed himself from his grip and staggered to the bathroom. She came back with the first-aid kit, two bowls of water, and a few clean towels. Jim had in the meantime rolled on his stomach and was hugging the pillow. Her pillow.

His look rested on her face when he said, "I'm back."

"I know. Back from Kansas."

He frowned, "I don't think I understand." Then it dawned on him, "Oh. You mean I am back _in_ Kansas." He grinned, "Let me guess, I was talking nonsense last night."

"You were not extremely coherent, no. I mean, you slept on the floor with me."

He sighed, "I woke up and was in pain. You know, for two months I've either slept on a very thin mattress, shackled to a chair or on the floor with a chain around my neck so I couldn't lay down properly. And then sleeping on this ridiculously soft mattress… Let's just say it'll take me some time to get used to sleeping like an actual human being again."

Sorcha sat down at his feet, "Well, I wouldn't complain if you let me shackle you to my bed. But right now, I think we should focus on the task at hand. Your wounds."

Jim put himself into a sitting position and looked down at himself, "I don't know if that's necessary. A doctor has been in several times. Look, stitches everywhere…"

Sorcha had seen the stitches. She could have down a better job, really. If anything, they had been done only to stop major blood loss. "An amateur. Those wounds are going to scar real good."

"They weren't into aesthetics very much. Still, no need to go over these. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, but your feet won't…" His feet looked really bad, which was saying something considering the overall condition his body was in. Nails missing (seven in total), and the soles of his feet were decorated with what Sorcha knew were whiplashes. She had seen them taking the whip to his feet. "Did you really walk up the five flights of stairs like that?"

"Don't be silly. Just because I tell you to do that, it doesn't mean I won't use the lift. Do they look bad?"

"Yeah. Come on, get up on the bed, I'll take care of them." Jim moaned, but complied. Sorcha started with the left foot, which she placed in her lap tenderly, before soaking one of the towels in the bowl with the clean water and wiping the crusted blood away. "What is it?" She had noticed Jim was grinning.

"_I'll never be…. Maria Magdalena…" _(1)

"Idiot."

"Aw, now, that's mean. How can you call me names when you have my abused foot lying in your lap? You should be shedding tortured tears on them and then wipe them clean with your hair. And I think I remember something about kissing and expensive oils as well…"

"Well, I have to tell you that your church has actually stated that wasn't Mary Magdalene at all."

"Says the prod. But really, that doesn't mean you cannot do that."

"Do you really want salty tears on half healed wounds and empty nail beds? Because really, I can do that."

Jim tilted his head, "You know, I am disappointed. I played this scene over and over again in my head, when those _brutes_ were _torturing_ the _shite_ out of me, your _beloved_ Jim… And I always imagined you would either wake me up with a nice, dedicated blowjob, or at least really be in tears. And now, look at yourself. You're being all composed and… normal." The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, "For the first time, ever."

She lowered her head as she took the disinfectant, "I try my very best not to be hysterical about your condition."

"Which I appreciate immensely… Is it really that bad?"

"Well, I think we can say for sure the really bad part is over… But they couldn't heal because you use your feet all the time… Some are still bleeding. I have to disinfect them; they look angry. And with your nail beds all exposed, that will hurt like shit. Would you like something to bite on?"

He shook his head, "Go ahead. It will be fine. Well, it certainly will hurt less than having them _pulled_ out…_viciously_… having the nail _torn_ slowly from the bed…"

"You do want to make me cry, don't you?"

He grinned, "I'm just having a bit of fun. Just to show you I am still the same. But I will stop now. Go ahead, Sorcha. The sooner this is over…" He took a deep breath and waited. When she applied the disinfectant though, he gritted his teeth very soon. It stung like hell, really. Soon, his face, covered in cold sweat, was contorted in pain. His fingers buried themselves into the sheets, knuckles white. At some point, he started hissing, which then slowly turned into soft whimpering.

Sorcha couldn't bring herself to look into his face before she was done. She speeded up, though. A short while later, his feet were bandaged. She planted a soft kiss on his ankle. "There you go. It's over. You have been very brave." She took another flannel, soaked it in the cold water from the second bowl, moved to his face, and wiped the sweat away. "Do you want something against the pain?"

He shook his head again, panting heavily. "Give me a minute. I'll be alright. Shite, that hurt." He rested for a few minutes, eyes closed, waiting for the pain to subside.

Sorcha ran her fingers through his hair. Some of it was missing, forcefully ripped out when they were dragging him around the place by it. "I'm so glad to have you back in one piece…"

"Well, not exactly… I have my missing nails in the pocket of my coat." He managed a crooked grin. "You always complain about how all my gifts are so impersonal… I thought I bring you something like this for once."

"You're shitting me, right?"

"Go and check…" He freed his head from her grip. "In the meantime, I think I'll go and have a shower. You're alright if I use your bathroom? I'll promise I won't get my feet soaked."

"Sure, go ahead. I'll order us something to eat in the meantime. How do feel about Italian?"

"Anything that isn't some grey-brownish stodge is fine with me…" He got off the bed, but then suddenly froze. "Shite…" There was a small puddle of blood on the bed sheets where he had been lying. "Where did that come from?" She didn't answer. She didn't have to. Jim knew it. He looked down at the floor where he had been sleeping. There was a puddle of blood, too. "I'll clean that up first." Now that he was aware, he also noticed that his boxers felt rather… wet, sticking to his skin like they did. "You don't happen to have any underwear for men here?"

She shook her head, "No, but I can go to your flat and get you a few boxers."

"No, it's okay… Maybe it would be better anyways if I left here. I'm imposing way too much."

"I'd rather have it you stay for a couple of days, James. Not alone. You're not imposing in the slightest."

"I ruined your sheets."

"You ruined about five of my blouses, a life's worth of my underwear and some skirts. Please, Jim, stay here."

"Do you really want me here? I mean… I'm bleeding from my rectum. Even you should understand what that means…" Suddenly, it occurred to him she was much calmer than she should be. "You knew it, didn't you?"

She nodded, "I… I watched."

He made a step back, "I told you not to… why did you do that?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. I just… I guess I just wanted to sort of… be with you. Not let you go through all this alone." She swallowed, "I never barged in because I thought you might not like it. And when I heard what they were planning to do to you… they were faster. I never got the chance to come in and tell you… I failed you."

Jim sighed deeply, "It's okay. We couldn't have done anything anyways without blowing your cover. I just… I wish you didn't have to see all of this. Did you watch the whole time?" She nodded. "Then you saw everything." She nodded again. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to be sorry. Not for you, at least…" She bit her lower lip. "We will get back at them, yes? At them, and at Mycroft?"

"Did he order that?"

"He told them to do what they thought was necessary. But he was too busy with something else… now that I think about, probably Sherlock and his stay in Dartmoor. So he just… let them. They were discussing what to do in the lunchroom. Matthew came up with… the idea of assaulting you. Joel was the one who suggested dressing you up in women's clothes… Christian… he was the one who said that they'll have to make sure that you will be aroused, too… that your body betrays you, because it would make the humiliation for you so much worse. The rest was decided between all of them… how long you should go without a shower… the bukkake… the urinating…" She swallowed. "Mycroft… he wasn't all that happy when he heard it, but he figured… if they could break you like that, what the hell… I hear Matthew is being promoted next week. Because it was his idea… No more dealing with government captives. Jim, I can't stand there and watch when they give him a medal for doing this."

Jim shook his head, "You don't have to, Sorcha. I'll take care of this. There'll be no promotion, I'll guarantee you…"

She managed a smile, but it was short-lived, "You will need to see a doctor about this… bleeding. I googled it and some say that you might need surgery."

"No, I don't…. I just… I just want to forget about it. There are plans to be put into motion, and I cannot possibly think about this anymore." The truth was that he didn't want to think about it. Too much pain…. Too much humiliation… even for somebody like him, who had been beaten up more often than he could count, and humiliated beyond what most people were capable to endure, this was bad. He wanted nothing but to forget. And retaliate. "But I will take revenge, believe me. On Mycroft himself."

"How?"

He suddenly smiled. Sorcha had been his friend for twenty years now, but she had never seen that smile before. Crazy. Insane. "I know things. Things about Sherlock… Things that Mycroft told me himself… I will destroy him. Sherlock. Utterly destroy him. Break him to pieces and stump on them until there's nothing left but dust. And Mycroft will always know that he was the one who made it possible for me to do that. If I am hurting now… he will wish he was in my place when I am done with his family."

"What have you planned?"

"I will tell you in due time. The only thing you need to know is that it's gonna be good." He took a deep breath and hissed, "No one is doing _this_ to James Moriarty and walks away alive." Then he slumped. "I feel so tired."

"Go back to bed, then…" Sorcha didn't know what to do. So many emotions running through her usually calm and collected boss; it was completely alien.

The next emotion he showed though was the worst, "Will you stay with me again?" And those big brown eyes… begging her?

She nodded, "I don't have some place else to be but at your service, James."

A smile again, "Even though I am damaged goods in every sense now? Bleeding into your sheets and all?"

"It doesn't change anything for me, Jim. I am still yours. If you want me to stay, I will stay."

"I want you to." He limped over to her bed and sat down. "You're sleeping, too?" As she nodded, he reached out his hand. "Join me."

She did. As she cuddled into his arms, she knew that something vital had broken in Jim. Never before had he asked her to join him in bed. To cuddle. And now two times in a row, he held her to his body. They had shattered him. And here he was, trying to hold on. In desperate need for human contact, from somebody who would not hurt him. She shifted her position slightly and held his head to her shoulder, with her fingers caressing his cheek and neck. She buried her face in his hair and planted random kisses on it.

Jim murmured, "Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome, Jim. Try to sleep. I'll be there when you wake up."

"I never doubted that…"

* * *

(1) _Maria Magdalena - _Sandra


	13. Here's my comeback on the road again

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. The title is from the song _Big in Japan _by Alphaville  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: ****Here's my comeback on the road again**

Jim recovered. Slowly, but he did. His feet healed, the remaining bruises faded, the stitches were removed, his hair grew back where it had been ripped out. But the most important thing for Sorcha to see was how he recovered emotionally. The first few days, he remained sitting on her bed, silent, spent his time looking out of the window, sometimes humming along to what Sorcha recognized was The Bee Gees' _Tragedy_. But he never once asked her to come lie down with him again, and she noticed that sometimes, he even shied away from her touch.

And then one night, a week after he had been released, he went back to his own flat. When Sorcha came by that evening after he had called her, she noticed he had his hair slicked back again, and that he was wearing his best suit. It didn't fit him like it used to, for all the weight he had lost during his captivity, but he looked nevertheless good in it.

Jim Moriarty was back.

Only when he sat down in his chair, hesitating for only a split second, Sorcha knew that not everything was back to normal. She didn't mention it, however. "You called. I am here. Any new instructions?"

Jim shifted his weight to one side, "A new plan, Sorcha. Apparently, one of my best men is currently sitting in Pentonville. I feel obliged to something about it, since apparently it is my fault he got caught in the first place. So, I made a plan. Next week, I will get Sebastian out of jail. However, I will need some more information. You think you can get them for me?"

"Anything you need."

"I will need exact plans of the building. I will need to know who is in charge of the security next Friday at 11 A.M. I need to know in what part of the building Sebastian is being held. You think you can find that out?"

"I can find out what's on the menu that day…"

Jim grinned, "The answer I was hoping for. I'll need you to take a day off from work though. Honestly I would prefer if you take a whole week off, or at least act as if you were sick the days before Friday. On Friday, 10:55, you will wait in front of the prison building, in a car. I suggest the Camaro. Something that is much too flashy to be used in such a situation. They won't look twice at it. I have planned a route from the prison to a safe house where Sebastian can change and you can dump the car. You will be gone before they suspect something."

Sorcha frowned, "The way you say it, it sounds like a piece of cake. Not many have broken out of Pentonville."

"Well, so far nobody had my help with it. Don't worry. Next Friday evening, Sebastian is gonna be back with you here. Although I suspect he would prefer being with Gloria that night." He rolled his eyes, "She actually gave me hell this past week. _Why is he still in jail? When are you going to get him out?_ Crazy in love with him, she is."

"Yeah… I heard about that. So, where will you be then, next Friday?"

_Oh, she's catching up… _"I'll go and hide somewhere. I will tell you the details when Sebastian is out. Let's be honest, Mycroft will suspect something when suddenly Europe's best sniper breaks out of Pentonville, and then he will come for me again. Some guy… the one who dressed me up like a woman from the 50's, actually asked questions about Sebastian. Told them I had no idea what they were talking about, that I haven't seen him since I left Brighton after my stepdad hang himself." He chuckled, "See how they underestimate me? Sebastian completely disappeared after that incident in Afghanistan, and they never once seriously considered that I could have been involved. I can't believe someone as intelligent as Mycroft hires that many idiots."

"I try to not feel insulted right now." Sorcha murmured. "But honestly, all those guys, Matthew, Joel and their gang, they weren't hired because they were so intelligent, but because they had a reputation of making people talk. Actually, if Milverton's brother hadn't taken those pictures, Sebastian could be one of them now."

Jim laughed, "That sounds quite entertaining. Being tortured by Sebastian." He shook his head, "Anyways, I would like to have the information by tomorrow evening. You think you can do that?"

"Sure. Anything else you need done?"

"No, that would be it. Dismissed."

* * *

Jim had to admit to himself that somehow he had waited for this moment since he was forced to leave Dublin to live in Brighton with his mam and his bastard of a stepfather, so, since he had first set foot in Britain. Before that, he had learned about the history of Ireland and England a lot. His father had always made sure little Jim was proud of his Irish roots.

_You see, Jim, we might not be rich, but we have the soul the posh Brits don't have. They still think they own us. But they don't. We fought. Remember how important it is that you never forget how our ancestors fought for our freedom. Never once lower your head to the English. _

Jim had never. But he had felt the contempt oozing from some people in Brighton. Just like Sorcha and Sebastian had. He had heard the talks, all the names they had called him, mick, paddy, all that shite. And then the football game. He had been so happy, back in Dublin, with the Morans, if only for one night. It had been supposed to be a friendly, but the Irish had scored, and all hell had broken loose, the English had trashed the stadium… And then Jim had gone home, where Marlon Brook had trashed him, because he had lost a vast amount of money. As if it had been Jim's fault. And the day after that, Carl had trashed Jim some more, had insulted Sorcha, and even Sebastian had been tripped. All because they happened to be Irish; Jim from Dublin, Sorcha and Sebastian from Limerick, the _City of the Broken Treaty. _

But now, it was payback time.

Jim would deal a blow to the heart of the United Kingdom.

He had never wondered about the Taliban and why they had attacked the WTC and the Pentagon on 9/11. To him it was obvious: they despised everything the US stood for; wealth, freedom, all that jazz, so attack the symbols that displayed wealth and freedom to the world. Jim would do the same. He wouldn't kill people, though. He was good, but, not even he could get away with murder if he was caught. And being caught was his intention. And he would make it a show the English would remember.

_The Bank of England._ The English were so proud of their wealth, their pound, while the Irish were struggling to survive with their Euros and the financial crisis.

_Pentonville Prison. _It was necessary. Jim needed Sebastian. Sebastian was the only one capable of ruling his empire. Besides, the man had risked and lost his freedom because of Jim, and things like these, Jim tended to reward. Sebastian had sold his soul to him. And this treaty would not be broken.

And finally…

_The Tower of London. The Crown Jewels._ 2012. The Diamond Jubilee. What better time than to decorate himself with the Crown Jewels? Lizzy's icies. He held no grudge against the lady. In fact, he thought she had a brilliant taste, marrying Prince Philip. The man was gold. But she was a friend, _a very old friend_, to Mycroft Holmes. And how Mycroft would hate to see Jim, the man he had to let go, sitting on the throne wearing the crown. _Screw you, Iceman. _

Jim still had trouble sleeping. Often, he woke up during the night, covered in cold sweat, shivering, overwhelmed with the memories of his time in the hands of those brutes.

Jim still had trouble eating. He had started eating normally again, defying his body, but it showed. His body put on fat like it was expecting to be starved again soon. His stomach was swollen, and it looked awful (except to Sorcha. But well, she was just weird, sometimes.)

Jim still had trouble sitting down. He was still bleeding from his rectum. His doctor (in his service for ten years. Jim trusted the man blindly.) had recommended surgery, but Jim had refused, for the same reason he had never gotten plastic surgery for his scars, for the same reason he never had the tooth that Carl Powers had knocked out replaced: because this was him. The survivor. He would survive this as well. All the hatred, all the shame inside him, dealt to him by British folks, he would use it to deal his blow in return.

And as he walked past the ravens, counting them… just in case… and raised his phone to send his text to Sherlock, he forgot all about the past weeks. He forgot the pain, the humiliation, everything was overshadowed by the thrill he felt now.

This was the beginning.

The beginning of The Fall.

The Fall of the cleverest man that walked the planet.

_Come and play. Tower Hill. Jim Moriarty x_

* * *

Sorcha loved the Camaro. Next to Jim with his extraordinary brain and Sebastian with his looks and magic trigger finger, Sorcha often felt inadequate. But not in the Camaro. It was silly, but driving this awesome car made her feel great about herself. Running her hands over the steering wheel, she suddenly had no doubt Jim's plan would work, would be completely flawless.

And the blaring of the sirens that suddenly erupted proved her right. Jim had managed. The security was down.

James Moriarty had said _Open Sesame_, and the doors of Pentonville had unlocked.

More than forty thieves would be out on the streets tonight.

And Sebastian Moran.

* * *

Pentonville Prison was just like Sebastian had always imagined Alcatraz. Or, Fox River. His sister's obsession with this silly TV Show had taught Sebastian one thing, though: You had to be as smart as Michael Scofield or as reckless as T-Bag to get out of a hellhole like this.

James Moriarty was the perfect combination of those two.

So, when the alarm went off and his door mysteriously unlocked, Sebastian Moran knew what had happened, what this meant. Somehow, Jim had managed to escape the Wolverine Claws of Mycroft Holmes and his government, and was now back prancing through his city and causing mayhem wherever he went.

And now, he had come to get his second-in-command.

Sebastian jumped off his bed and ran. He didn't get lost once. It was like the _Titanic_: follow the rats. The guards were panicking and dashed to the nearest exit. Sebastian let his fellow inmates chase them while he went straight for the closest door. Revenge wasn't on the menu today; he just wanted out.

And as he finally opened that last door, and felt the sun shining on his face, he saw it. Parked just in front of the building, the Camaro. Sebastian raced, opened the passenger's door and yelled, "Go!", before he had even closed it again properly.

Sorcha didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

When Pentonville Prison had disappeared from the rear way mirror, Sebastian let out a breath, "About time, sister. I couldn't help but thinking that I wasn't your top priority."

"Well, you weren't." She pointed at the backseat, "There's a change of clothes for you, and some hair dye. Jim thinks it might take the guards about half a day to get the riot under control; until then, you need to look different." She eyed her brother, "Although those wounds might be hard to hide. What happened? You can't tell me you defended a girl's honour in there." Sebastian sported an impressive bruise under his left eye.

He turned around and grabbed the hoodie and jeans from the backseat, "I had to put some people in their places. You know how much shit I was getting because of what I did to those civilians? Honestly, it's not like those scumbags are sitting in Pentonville because they were such defenders of human rights… Anyways, I take it the lunatic is back in the asylum?"

"And has taken it over again."

"How is he?"

Sorcha licked her lips, "I don't know. Who knows with Jim? Physically, he's still in pain."

"What did they do to him?" Sebastian's voice was hollow when he unbuttoned his shirt.

"What you would expect. Anything in their books, and because Jim wouldn't even blink, some more."

"Poor sod. So, what's the plan this time?"

"He wants to drop the Camaro pretty soon. Somewhere where the rioters will find and trash it. My heart aches. Then we are to go to the nearest safe house to get your hair dyed. It's black. You will look absolutely ridiculous."

"And still I score more than you."

"Because you're a god damn slag." Sorcha guided the car through the traffic as she heard sirens behind them, "Crap, are they after us?" She pulled over, making way for the police car who passed them by. "That was Lestrade and Donovan. They seemed in a hurry."

"Jim's probably back at his cat and mouse game with Sherlock." Sebastian rummaged through the glove compartment, "We'll go to your place. Furthest away from the city." He handed her one of the Oyster Cards he found as she pulled into a parking spot. "When are we going to meet Jim?"

"I don't know. He said he would leave London for a few days, because he thinks Mycroft will know that it was him who disabled the security in Pentonville to get you out." She pulled out the keys; the car she had already emptied earlier, so that nothing could be traced back to them. She closed the doors and patted the car on the roof, "Bye, baby. It was nice riding you."

Sebastian grinned, "I can't wait to hear that sentence again from a woman. Come on, let's hurry. I don't want to be closer to the rioters than necessary."

* * *

They didn't go home immediately, but crashed the nearest McDonald's, where Sebastian flirted with the girl behind the counter. The girl would remember him for sure when later, his picture would be shown once the authorities knew he had escaped. The restaurant was so far away from Sorcha's flat that it would win them considerable time.

Now, they were sitting at a table, and Sebastian took a huge bite from his Big Mac. "God, that's just delicious. How I missed this. Proper food."

"Yeah, proper food alright…" Sorcha eyed her cheeseburger cautiously. "We should have gone to a Pret."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, "And have what, a salad? I'm a man, I need meat. Besides, they have a telly here, and I want to know where Lestrade was heading to…." For the first time, he got a good look at the TV screen. There was too much noise in the restaurant so Sebastian couldn't hear what the news reporter was talking about. However, it seemed like something huge, and the text which was running at the bottom of the screen confirmed his suspicions, "Somebody broke into The Tower…"

"What?" Sorcha turned around so she could get a good look at the screen, "_Thief attempting to steal the Crown Jewels…._ _Break-in at the Bank of England…. Riots at Pentonville Prison_…" Suddenly, something dawned on her, "You don't think…?"

Sebastian grinned, "Jim's a fucking genius. He hired some people to break into The Tower and the Bank so that cops are busy and won't all be at Pentonville…." Then he froze. "I think I must have hurt my eyes…"

The TV screen showed footage from the CCTV cameras inside The Tower of London; the glass container which contained the Crown Jewels was shattered from one side. Inside the container there was a man sitting on the throne...

Sorcha almost dropped her burger, "Is that Jim wearing the Crown Jewels?"

Sebastian ran his hand through his hair, "Great. Now he completely lost it." He watched the screen with keen interest as Jim was being escorted to a police car, hands cuffed behind his back. There was a smile on Jim's face.

But not the smile Sebastian had expected. It was distant, vacant. Not crazy, as Sebastian had thought Jim would smile if he ever got his hands on the Crown Jewels. Not amused. No, it was empty. Somewhere in between _You stupid idiots, you can't touch me _and _I don't care what happens. _

Sebastian looked at his sister, who was biting her knuckles in an attempt to wake herself from this nightmare, "If you are going to scream or cry, we should leave."

"Why? Why is he doing this? He just got out of Mycroft's clutches, and now he's going to prison…"

"Come on, he's not going to prison…" He breathed out. "Sorcha, he _wanted_ to be abducted by Mycroft."

She turned around, "So you know?"

Sebastian put the rest of his burger back in the box, "When I was trying to figure out where he had gone, I cracked the code to his phone. He sent a text to Mycroft, about some Jumbo Jet, I have no idea. But I believe this text was the reason Mycroft came for him… He planned on it. He left me clues so I could find it out, just in case."

She looked at him, and nodded. "But I still cannot understand it… he knows what those guys do to enemies of the state… Do you really think he would have risked… this?"

Sebastian nodded, "Yeah. I believe he did. And I believe he knows exactly what he does now. Don't worry, he will be back with us soon. We need to find whether he left us instructions. Come on; let's go to his place before it's going to be raided by the cops."

* * *

Jim felt as if he was on drugs. So detached.

_Let them cuff me. Let them take me to the car. Oh, look, Lestrade is watching. Who cares? Sherlock, are you watching? Are you seeing me? I broke into The Bank, into The Tower, and my man is back on the streets, because I opened the door to The Prison. Are you watching? The City is on Fire, Sherlock, and you will burn very soon._

Another smile.

They arrived at the station. Jim didn't react as they locked him up. Later, he was being escorted to prison. Jim grinned as he noticed there were about five policemen guarding him.

_So afraid I could break out of here, aren't you? You have no idea. I could easily kill you if I wanted to. All five of you. But I don't. What good could it do me? I have been through hell, and it spat me right back out. Do you really think you can scare me? No, you can't scare me. Nothing can scare me anymore. _

One of the guards, the oldest one, and probably the most experienced, took his name and information before he said, "Please take off all of your clothes." Jim did. "Back against the wall."

Jim heard the snap of the latex gloves as the man put them on.

_Cavity search. Funny. I thought this was not the common procedure here in England. But I guess with somebody who just broke into the three most secure places in London, you'll have to be careful. _

"Open your mouth."

_What could I possibly be hiding in there? The remote for the doors? Careful, that tooth is loose. Oh please, I'm not hiding anything that deep down in my throat… _

"Turn around please. Hands up against the wall."

He felt the man's hands. Prying. Business-like. It took all of his composure not to lash at him. He cooled his front against the wall, trying to ignore that yet again his body was invaded. Was that the story of his life? But at least this was business. It had to be done. It was not like with… them.

The man took his fingers out of him. There was silence for a few seconds. "Do you need a doctor for that, sir?" He held his gloved fingers next to Jim's face.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jim noticed the blood on the gloves. He shook his head, "No, sir. That will go away.

"If you say so. You can move now." Jim let his hands sink. The man gave him a bundle. "These are your clothes for your stay. Do you wish to call anyone?"

_Idiots. Idiots, really. I know that we all have the right to make one phone call, but honestly, I just broke into the god damn tower, do you really think it's a good idea to let me talk to anyone? Oh, those English, always so darn polite. _

"Sure." They guided him, still naked, to the phone. He dialled quickly, hoping that Sebastian had already had a chance to get to his emergency phone.

"You are a goddamn arsehole, James."

Jim grinned, "Glad to have you back, moron."

"I'm not kidding, James, the moment you set foot into our flat again I will beat the shite out of you."

"That will have to wait. Can you call my lawyer?"

"I have a lawyer sitting here right next to me in case you've forgotten that over your sexting while I was away."

Jim had to chuckle; the pressure, that feeling of detachment was gone, as he was back with on the phone and heard the voice of his best man again. _A fool proof plan. _"I love it when you're all protective. But no, I need the other lawyer… Tell him to come and visit you. And then me."

"Are there any instructions we should have found by now?"

"Where are you?"

"Your place. But we need to hurry, I guess the police will be here soon."

"Leave and go to her place. She will know where to look. I have to leave now. If you do your job, everything will be alright. Farewell, my dear friends."

"Yeah, farewell, stupid shit. I will fucking knock you out for this. And the texts."

Jim smiled and handed the phone back to the guard who was obviously regretting his decision to let Jim make that call. "Don't worry, sir. Just an acquaintance. You may guide me to my cell now so I can get decent."

* * *

Sebastian crushed the SIM card of the phone between his fingers, "Stupid fucker. I will snap his neck when he gets back."

"Just leave him alone, Bastian." Sorcha was currently packing all the stuff she planned on taking to her own place; since she had been the contact person of Jim's clients, she could tell the important things that would get him a life time behind bars from the stuff that basically would make police cringe with boredom, and of course the stuff that concerned Sherlock. "He's not all there right now."

"Right now… Yeah, right. Do I really have to tell you that he has not been "all there" since we know him?"

"Do I have to remind you that you would be dead if it weren't for him?" She closed the zipper on the bag. "What did he say?"

"That we should call Crayhill and tell him to get ready, and that we should go to your place to look for instructions, and that you know where to look for them. And if that place is your underwear drawer, I swear to God…"

"Oh shut up. I'm 35, I am allowed to do the nasty."

"But not with him. Sorcha, I read your texts, the man is crazy."

Sorcha slung the bag over her shoulder, "I will not discuss this with you of all people, Sebastian Moran. And no, it's not in my underwear drawer." She had no idea where to look for the instruction. She had left Jim alone sometimes, when she had to go to work, but when she had returned back home, it seemed he hadn't moved all day. Where could he have hidden instructions? God, what if had really hidden them in her drawer? No, no, he hadn't been in the mood for games, broken and battered as they had sent him home. Then again…. Their relationship was only that, only sex, and if he had to hide something in her flat, surely he would hide it some place she associated with him…

Upon entering Sorcha's flat, Sebastian immediately made his way to her underwear drawer so she wouldn't even have the possibility of playing him. Sorcha blushed a deep red as he went through all her stuff coming up with nothing, thank god.

"Satisfied now?"

"Not really, no." He looked around. "Think. Think. Where would he hide instructions for you?"

_My kitchen table, my bathtub, my bed, under the carpet… Christ, he has been everywhere. We have been everywhere. _"I don't know. Since you are so good at reading his clues… and text messages…." Then she remembered it… What she had said to him when she had visited him in his cell…

_You know what's funny? No matter how bad you reek, I can still somehow smell you behind all that… I just want you to know that, because at one point, you will forget it in here..._

What she had meant was that, even if they treated him like scum, like an animal, that he was still a human being, that no matter what they did to him, that he was still James Moriarty, and not an animal, and that at some point, due to their treatment, he would probably forget that…

But Jim had read it differently….

She walked to the bathroom. Between working for Mycroft and looking after Jim, and finding out what he wanted to know about Pentonville, she had had no time to do the laundry. All the clothes were piled up in a corner; the stuff Jim had worn in captivity amongst them. She pulled it out.

And, tugged in the sleeve of the stained shirt, was an envelope. "Bastian, I've got them." She ripped it open. There, in Jim's hard-to-decipher handwriting (it still looked rather good, considering the finger on his writing hand was broken), were the instructions. She read them aloud as Sebastian leaned in the doorframe.

_Dear Sorcha, Dear Seb (if you actually managed to get out),_

_You might have noticed by now I got myself caught. Hell, I probably called you and told you that you need to find this piece of paper. So, yeah, I'm on vacation, again, but don't worry, it's not going to be as bad this time as it was the last time. _

_Anyways, I sure don't plan an elaborate stay. I'm planning six weeks. That is, if I can count on you to help me. There are a few things I need to assure the success of this._

_Number 1: Crayhill. I want him. I know you are a lawyer too, Sorcha, and a much better one, but I cannot blow your cover. And besides, I don't need a real lawyer. Crayhill will do just fine. I'm serious, Sorcha. Crayhill. Not you. _

_Number 2: The judges will be residing in a hotel. I need you to find me out who the judges are, and where they will be staying. On your laptop, Sorcha, you will find a text. You should find the document in question. I want this text combined with pictures of the families of the judges. If they don't find me "not guilty", their loved ones will die. Easy as that. I count on you two to make that happen. _

_Number 3: Keep an eye on Sherlock for me, would you? And when I say eye, I don't mean rifle, Seb, are we clear on that?_

_Number 4: Press is going to be at the trial. I want you to look for a certain type of press person; young, hungry, and desperate for a good story. I have the story they want. Since Sebastian cannot be at the trial for rather obvious reason, I need you to send somebody else. Gloria, maybe. Or you go yourself, Sorcha, but don't cry when you see me in handcuffs. _

_That was about it. I need this to be done, otherwise I am facing a rather long jail sentence. And you sure wouldn't want that. _

_Please burn this letter once you have memorized the details. _

_I am counting on you._

_J._

_PS: I sincerely hoped somebody has recorded an airing of the footage. I want to see myself wearing the Crown Jewels. _

Sorcha let her hand with the letter sink, "He actually planned getting caught."

"Of course he did…" Sorcha was startled as she noticed Sebastian was sitting next to her. He ran his hands over the trousers and shirt Jim had worn in captivity, scanning with expert eyes the stains that had gathered on the dirty grey fabric. "I might not beat him up, now that I've seen this…" He shook his head, "They really didn't change a darn bit over the last ten years." He stuffed the clothes back into the pile and got up. "I'll go and see Gloria and tell her the news, so she can plan ahead…. What are you doing?"

Sorcha had pulled the jacket back out and had gotten up, "I am keeping this. I know it's gross, so don't tell me. And now, I will call Crayhill and then look for the document on my computer. Jim won't spend any moment longer in jail than absolutely necessary."

Sebastian nodded, "Yeah, that's really gross. I'll see you around."

"Yeah. And have _fun_ with Gloria…"

Sebastian turned around and cocked an eyebrow, "I surely will. At least nobody threatens to spike my drink with sleeping pills to ravish me when I am out."

"GO!"

* * *

**I have two weeks of holidays ahead, so I might write some more again. Truth is that I am really not motivated anymore, but I want this finished. **


	14. Run through your town I shut it down

**Disclaimer: see prologue. Title from Rihanna's _Hard._  
**

* * *

**Chapter 13: Run through your town I shut it down**

"Are you sure you can do that without crying?" Sebastian asked with a sceptical look on his face as he watched Sorcha getting ready for the trial. "I still think Gloria would have been a better choice."

"Well, Gloria will be there too." She put on a wig with long red hair and a pair of fake glasses. "Do I look anything like Jenny Miller now? Or like you?"

Sebastian shook his head, "No, you look like… Ariel, the little mermaid… with glasses. Are you really sure you will not cry when you see him in handcuffs?"

"God, yes, Sebastian. I went over the footage where they led him to the car a gazillion times, I am used to the image."

"Okay, if you say so…" Sebastian shrugged and glanced at his reflection in the mirror, "I still think I should go, too. Nobody will recognize me with my hair like this." He had started dying his hair black and letting it grow out, in order to not be recognized in the street, and it had worked so far.

Sorcha rolled her eyes, "Sebastian, we've been over this many times, there will be so many security guards, someone's bound to recognize you even with this hair." She sighed, "I'm sorry, Sebastian. Jim's orders." Then the bell rang. "That's Gloria. Remember to watch the news and tell me about any journalist that matches Jim's description of a total failure."

"Will do. You, take care."

* * *

Gloria and Sorcha arrived at Old Bailey simultaneously with Sherlock and John. Because Gloria had been following them to Dartmoor as Daniel, there was no chance of Sherlock or John recognizing her.

Sorcha licked her lips nervously, "He looks pretty convinced he will win this, doesn't he?"

Gloria nodded, "Yeah. But then again…. they caught Jim on camera wearing the Crown Jewels. You should have heard my girls, they were cheering until he was being taken away. How will he ever be acquitted? The evidence is overwhelming."

Sorcha shook her head, "Don't worry. Everything is planned out. Actually, this is kinda boring. Okay, you will help me look for the desperate journalist, right?"

"Sure." Gloria sat down on the gallery, far away from John Watson. "How's Hagen?"

"Hagen?"

"Well, I cannot call your brother Siegfried anymore, with the black hair. So Hagen it is. I wonder why it's always the villains that have black hair. It so does not fit your brother."

Sorcha had to grin, "Yeah, because in this tale he's deffo the hero. Speaking of…" Jim was just being led onto the platform, heavily guarded by five people. "Oh gosh, Crayhill really did his job with that suit. He looks gorgeous… what is this woman doing there? Is she…. What the hell, she is touching my man!"

Gloria frowned, "Are you sure you're really up to this?"

"Look, she's… I can't believe it! She... oh, it's a piece of gum… okay, so no touching his… why is he looking at her like this?!"

Gloria got up, "Okay, I am not having this anymore. You will leave now. You are thirty-five, you cannot behave like a crazy teenager and ruin all of this. Go. Leave. I will take it from here on. Leave." She all but shoved Sorcha through the door.

Then she sat down again. Jim caught her look for one second, and the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

* * *

Sorcha made her way to the toilets, where she splashed some cold water into her face. God, she was really behaving like a teenager. Sebastian was right, she wasn't up to this. After Jim's ordeal, apart from that first night, he had never touched her again, and now he was all but making out with some random police woman? In this, admittedly creepy, way of his that always made her knees shake, and he played that on another woman? Bastard!

The door swung open, "Fucking bastard!" Sorcha raised her head. A furious woman had barged in, and was now using the sink next to Sorcha's to splash some water on her own face. "I can't believe it, I cannot believe it. This arrogant arsehole!"

Sorcha scanned the woman. It couldn't have been more obvious: deerstalker. A Sherlock fan. "Did you run into the star witness, then?"

"Yeah. Utter arsehole." She actually sniffed. "I was just trying to be nice to him, you know. I mean, now he's got fans all over the country, but soon, people will turn against him. He could use some more friends than just John Watson, or DI Lestrade. I could help him."

"How?"

The woman looked at Sorcha, "Well, I'm a journalist, you know. Right now the press is on his side, but they'll turn soon enough, they always do, I know about it, and he could have me on his side, but he's just too damn arrogant…" She wiped away some tears. "You know he actually told me I wasn't a real journalist?"

Sorcha let her eyes wonder over the woman; she had no idea how Sherlock possibly had deduced that this girl wasn't a real journalist, but she had learned that Sherlock was rarely mistaken. So, was this the kind of _journalist _Jim was looking for? "Don't listen to him. He has a reputation of being a total git. Here, have a hankie."

"Thank you. That is really nice of you. I'm Kitty, by the way. Kitty Reilly. And you are?"

"Ariel Gaynor."

"And you are here for…?"

Sorcha smiled, "Well, isn't everybody here for Sherlock Holmes vs. the man who broke into the three most secure places of the country? I have to admit I am extremely curious. Are you here to write about the trial?"

Kitty shook her head, "No, my boss wouldn't let me do that. Too complicated, apparently. I'm actually looking for… the things behind the trial. Like Sherlock Holmes and John Watson for instance. Or, well, the background of James Moriarty…"

_That's it. That's exactly what Jim wants. Underappreciated at work and looking for big scoop. _Sorcha smiled again, "Well, I am sure you will get that. A man like him, I'm sure he has a lot of things to tell you, things that he would want to get off his chest."

"You know him?"

"No, I don't but, come on, somebody who breaks into the Tower of London, he sure craves the attention…. I'll have to leave now, I… don't really want to miss Sherlock giving his testimony. See you around?"

"Yeah, sure… Ariel."

* * *

And a few days later, it was over. As Sorcha and Sebastian had expected, Jim was acquitted. Sebastian went out to celebrate (with Gloria, of that Sorcha was pretty sure), while Sorcha remained at home and got rid of the pictures of the families of the judges and the incriminating documents on her laptop.

Then the door opened. She raised her head, "Welcome back, Boss."

Jim leaned against the doorframe and smiled, "Told you I would come back. May I come in?"

"Sure. So, what did you do today? Been out celebrating your victory? Having a few pints? Sleeping with that cop woman?"

"I went to see Sherlock. Had tea at his place."

Sorcha dropped the pictures she was holding, "And here I wish you would have said you slept with the woman… What were you doing at 221B?"

"Just a little chit-chat." Jim sat down on the couch. "Told him how I go acquitted. Told him about the key code. Fooled him into believing I actually have a code. Told him he would die soon. All those things."

"Okay… Sounds like a fun tea party you had there." She sat down on the floor and collected the pictures. "So, I think I found the kind of journalist you're looking for. Kitty Reilly. We went for cocktails a few nights ago, and I got her card. She's eager to hear from you."

"I'll call her tomorrow. Good job, Sorcha. Really… good job." Jim grinned, "I hope you enjoyed the show Sherlock gave us. I surely did."

"Yeah, I can imagine that. You and him, having _a special something._" Sorcha put the folder on the desk, "Why are you doing all this, Jim?"

"What?"

"All of this. Getting abducted by Mycroft, getting tortured like this… and then, you come home, where people can look after you, and instead of just… relaxing, you go and get yourself jailed for six weeks. I just want to understand…"

Jim watched her, as she meticulously brought order on the chaos of files scattered around on her desk. "Sherlock."

"Of course." she sighed.

Jim leaned his head back, exposing the faint scars on his neck where the collar he had worn in captivity had broken his skin ever so slightly, "You can't know how it is. When everything is boring to you because you reached the top and had to stop. My life has always been a challenge, you know. Trying to survive and all. And now… No one gets to me anymore. No one but him, and his brother. But Mycroft is boring. He never once came down to myself to do a bit of the dirty work himself. I could just go and shoot him, and this is just… too simple. Now, Sherlock, however… Do you remember the _Return of Jafar_?" He raised his head to look at her.

She frowned, "That's a trick question, right?"

"No. How Jafar planned Aladdin's demise? Aladdin would have never won if it weren't for Iago's betrayal. That was unfortunate, but he had the right ideas. Plan how Aladdin would go down. Show the world he was a fraud and then kill him off. But I will do better."

Sorcha put the papers down and sat down on the couch, "Will you tell me your plan?"

Jim nodded, "Yeah. I will meet with this journalist, and tell her the true story."

"The true story of Sherlock Holmes? The fact that's he's a fucking git? She knows that."

"No, no… That Sherlock is a fraud."

"But he isn't."

"Of course he isn't." Jim rolled his eyes, "That's the joke. I know stuff from Mycroft, about Sherlock's childhood and all. I will pose to Kitty Reilly as an old friend of his, who knows all those things. And then I will tell her that Sherlock played me to pose as Moriarty. To play the arch-enemy, the big crime-lord that he needed to sound all the more fancy. That he invented all the cases, because that was the only way he could solve them."

"And you think that'll work?"

"Of course it will." Jim grinned absent-mindedly. "People will believe everything that's in the papers. It's their nature. And the story is absolutely convincing. The stupid people will never understand how Sherlock finds out all these things about them, and they will be craving for a display of how they are not stupid, that he just made all these things up. I'm giving it to them. They will believe me, just because what he does is completely beyond their understanding. And I have a lot of information about Sherlock that is just basically true. You take a lie and wrap it up in the truth, and people will have no doubt everything is true."

"I see… and then? You will kill him?"

"No… he will kill himself. The sad end of a sad man… And me proving that I am the best. That I can beat him. What can he say about me when he knows nothing about me? The only thing he will find is the record from the hospital when Carl beat me up, and really, that won't help him a bit. I never once went to hospital after Brook beat me up, and there are no records of my time when I… worked in Dublin. Besides, I am not going to be myself when I talk to Kitty." He turned his head to face Sorcha, "Are you doubting me?"

She shook her head, "No, Jim. I'm just worried." She licked her lips, "Sherlock is not like Mycroft. Sherlock knows no boundaries. Mycroft, for instance, if he had been there the whole time, with no distraction, he would have stopped the… _assault_." Jim turned his head ever so slightly away from her. "Because that's not the way he plays. He would have come down to your cell and talk to you if he had felt there was no other way of getting what he wanted, but he would have never ordered a thing like that. But you remember how Sherlock tortured Hope to get your name?" She lowered her gaze. "I just don't want you to be hurt again."

Jim took a deep breath, "I won't. I won't get hurt again. It's a fool proof plan."

"Mycroft will see the truth. And how can you be so sure Sherlock won't see what you're up to and make a plan of his own?"

"What, he and John? What are they going to do?" Jim seemed amused. "Tell their own story? By the time I am done, nobody will believe them anymore." He sighed, "I understand you're worried, and I… I appreciate. Really, I do." He bit his lip, "Not many women would have gone through what I've put you through. And certainly not many would have looked after me when I came back from… the _assault_. I want you to know that… I really appreciate that, too."

She smiled, "Thank you. It's… nice to hear." She got up. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Help you something with that Kitty person?"

"No, I can do that alone, don't worry. Besides, it's not the first thing on my mind right now. There's preparations that need to be done... What is the most hideous crime you could imagine?"

"Apart from hurting you?"

He grinned, "I am dead sure you are the only one who would think of that as hideous. No, I mean something else." He motioned to the desk, "The big black folder."

Sorcha took it and flipped through it, "The ambassador's children? Was it really that cosy in Mycroft's cell that you absolutely want to return?"

Jim got up from the couch and walked behind Sorcha, "Don't worry. People will believe it's Sherlock who has done this. Anyways, I just need some preparations done. Which mainly involve finding a way into their boarding school. Tell Sebastian to check the grounds someday soon." He yawned. "Tomorrow, I will talk to Kitty and tell her my story. As soon as Sebastian has the information he needs to kidnap the children, we will strike. Give me… a week or so to get under Kitty's skin."

"Yes, sir."

He smiled at the word _sir_. "But for now, I think we should…" He planted his hands on her shoulder. "I think we should have some fun, you and I. Since your brother will probably bash my head in soon for the naughty texts I sent you, I say we will give at least a real reason to do it."

Sorcha froze, "Are you sure you want that? I mean, don't people who… had _that _happen to them, don't they normally… don't want sex anymore? I mean, I don't know, but…"

Jim let his hand slide down into her blouse, "Some people, yeah… But I don't… besides…" He brought his lips to her ear, "It won't be my arse that's going to be torn apart tonight… what do you say, angel?"

She swallowed, "I'd say we hurry up before Bastian gets home…"

"That's my girl."

* * *

**The next chapter will show Sebastian in action again. **


	15. We will stand tall, face it all together

**Disclaimer: see Prologue. Title from Adele's _Skyfall_.  
**

**Warnings: **Mr Moran will be at work in this chapter, so expect some violence, though nothing graphic.**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 14: ****We will stand tall, face it all together**

Jim looked around nervously, "Are you sure we're safe here?"

"Of course we are, Richard. Can I call you Richard?" Kitty sat opposite him, recorder on the table, notepad at the ready. "I... I have to tell you, this is an amazing story you've told me on the phone. I can't quite believe it."

"Nobody can…" He lowered his head; there was no need to be alert. Sebastian sat at the counter, gun concealed in his leather jacket. Gloria sat on the table closest to the door. Nothing could happen to him. "I know it sounds completely mental… but… Sherlock Holmes really invented all those cases… and he paid me to… be Moriarty. You have to believe me, Miss Reilly."

"Oh, I do believe you, Richard, don't worry… But… they jailed you. For that incident in the Tower. Wasn't that the moment to… back out again? Jail is not exactly a walk in the park now, is it?"

He shivered, "No, not at all. It was… terrible…" His breathing became faster. "So terrible. All those… murderers… and rapists… and I was... right in the middle… I was so afraid… you always hear such terrible stories about prison…" He licked his lips before taking a sip from the glass of water he had ordered.

Kitty Reilly tilted her head; this man in front of her, Richard Brook, looked like he couldn't hurt a fly. And most certainly he wasn't the great James Moriarty. "I am sorry to hear that. But… in court… you looked quite… sure of yourself?"

He shrugged, "Well, I am an actor… and I guess a pretty good one, then." He smiled a bit. "Listen, are you really going to publish all this? Because… I cannot go on like this anymore… I… I don't want to be seen by the whole city as the bad guy…" He turned his head- and froze.

Matthew Durkan had just entered the café.

* * *

Sebastian saw the difference in his employer immediately. Jim had looked awkward the whole time, and Sebastian had to admit he was a bloody good actor. But suddenly, there was something else in his face. Fear? Hurt? Shame? Sebastian was not really good at this. But he counted two and two together when he followed Jim's look and saw the man who had entered. Everything about the tall and burly man screamed government, the way he held himself, the way he scanned the room... Sebastian looked back at Jim, who only nodded. Sebastian got up from the chair and walked towards the man. He only locked eyes with him for one second, smiled and showed the cracked tooth he had received when at the hands of the Taliban when they had tortured him. He never had it enamelled because of the same reason Jim never had his replaced: this was him.

And the ladies loved it.

And everybody knew that one characteristic of Sebastian Moran.

So did Matthew. It took him a while to realize whom we had just run into. But when he did, he immediately turned around and left the café again. _What a brilliant week. First I get a medal for kicking the crap out of Moriarty, then I will single-handedly deliver Sebastian Moran to Mycroft Holmes. Where is he? _Matthew knew he was risking a lot. He should call for back-up. But hell, he had fucking shattered Moriarty, what could Moran do?

* * *

Sebastian waited around the corner. As Matthew passed it, Sebastian lashed out, put his arm around Matthew's neck, applying pressure to his windpipe, and dragged him down the alley out of earshot of the public. "So, you thought you could take me down, you fool? If the government would finally hire smart people instead of smartasses, they might be successful in keeping me locked up longer than two months." Matthew struggled, but slowly, he was out of air and choked. Sebastian waited a bit longer before he let him fall down to the floor and placed his foot firmly on Matthew's back. "So, I hear you know Mr Moriarty…"

Matthew, his voice hoarse from the pressure Sebastian had applied, croaked, "You… and him…. I should've… known…"

"Yeah, you really should have… Mr Moriarty is my boss. And I swore him allegiance… and to off his enemies. And if I am not very much mistaken, you are an enemy… Are you?"

"I don't know…"

"You do know… I can smell the smell of decay on you. You work downstairs, don't you? In the cells?" Sebastian buried his fingers in Matthew's hair. "Where Mycroft Holmes held him?" He smashed Matthew's head against the pavement. "So, what was your role in this little play? Where you the one who beat him?" _Smash_. "The one who peed on him?" _Smash._ "The one who took his nails?" _Smash._ "Or the one who raped him?" _Smash. _"Or…" He leaned in and brought his lips close to Matthew's ear, "…all of the above?" One final smash. "Have you got anything to say in your defence?"

"I.. was… following orders…. Just like you… did… when you… tortured innocent… civilians…."

"Yeah, but unlike you, I got punished…" Sebastian slid his hand into his pocket and brought his knife out. "So tell me… did you at least have the guts to look the greatest man on this planet in the eye when you had him beaten and raped?" No answer. "I thought so." Sebastian dealt a kick to Matthew's side so he rolled over on his back. Then he sat down on his chest, and brought his knife up to Matthew's face. "I will make sure you will at least once look him in the eye. But don't worry, I will spare you the humiliation of being alive… Now brace yourself, for I hear taking someone's eye out when they're alive hurts like shite." He brought his gloves out from his pocket and stuffed them roughly into Matthew's mouth. Then he brought his face close to Matthew's, "Jim Moriarty sends his love…"

* * *

Jim was distracted during his whole conversation with Kitty, so that, after half an hour, he told her he had headaches, and left the café. Finding Sebastian was not difficult. He knew Sebastian's methods. So he looked for the closest alley. And there Sebastian was, working meticulously, which was quite a challenge with the way Matthew wriggled under him.

Jim approached them, "Sebastian."

"Thought you'd come, boss. Took my time."

"You're the best, Seb. Give me the knife." Sebastian handed him the knife and backed off. "So, Matthew… here we are again… with a bit of reversed roles, this time... And I did look better than you." Matthew's eyelids had both been cut away. Jim brought the knife to his face, "How is your wife these days?" He chuckled, "She must be so proud of her hubby. The nice medal you got for torturing me… I remember when you said… when was that? Oh yeah, before you _raped _me… What was it again? _Let's see how you will enjoy sex ever again… _And after you all had a go at me… what did you say then again…Oh, I remember… _I will go home now and do my wife… gently… and no woman will ever even look at you again…_" Jim ran the blade over Matthew's nose. "Well, let me tell you, I had sex only yesterday evening. Good sex. Rough sex…"

"Jim…" The tone in Sebastian's voice was threatening.

"Oh, hell, Sebastian, you know she wants it, too, now shut up." Jim ran the blade over Matthew's lips. "Yeah, I'm doing his sister…"

"Jim!"

"And, hey, I think you know her, Matthew…. I think you know her." Jim grinned. "Jenny Miller. Yeah, I'm sure your eyes would open up wide if you still had your eyelids. How does it feel when one of your very own fraternizes with the enemy? I hope one day I can tell Mycroft about that." Jim got up and handed the knife back to Sebastian. "Try and keep him alive for as long as possible."

"Yes, boss. Care to watch?"

Jim shook his head, "No, Sebbie. There are plans to be put into motion, and I can't waste my time with this scum. I'll be home. I'd say… with a bottle of _Ladybank Single Malt _for you."

Sebastian smiled, "For a bottle of that, I'll tape this here for you." Then he turned to Matthew, "Where were we?"

* * *

Sorcha went over the folder, "This is creepy."

"What is?"

"You. In these pictures. You look so… innocent… what's on the DVD?"

"Me reading children's stories." Jim eyed the liquid in his glass, "Why did I offer this bottle to your brother? This is delicious."

"You reading children's stories? To actual children?" She laughed, "They're all going to have the worst nightmares." She looked at the other pictures, newspaper articles… "Richard Brook… Why that name?"

"I see the irony hasn't escaped you…" He walked over to where she was sitting. "Reichenbach. Rich Brook is what comes closest to it. Sherlock will get the joke. It's not like I chose the name on purpose."

She shook her head and looked at the pictures, "You look so innocent in them… it's creepy."

Jim chuckled, "I admit, this are not the best pictures that exist of me. But remember, I used to be innocent, too. Before I chose to fight back. These are the drafts of the article Kitty plans to publish."

"What an utter load of crap…" Sorcha murmured while she went over the drafts.

"Yeah, isn't it?" Jim sat down next to her. "Soon, Sebastian will kidnap the children. The sweets are prepared. If Sherlock hurries up, they will survive. If not… well… I hope he does, though. If he fails, people will be less likely to believe the whole story of how he makes up cases."

"How will you make the police doubt? I mean, Lestrade isn't the brightest, and let's not even start with Anderson and Donovan, but they trust him."

"They won't when I am done. Have you seen your brother lately?"

"Yeah, he's still a jerk."

Jim chuckled, "Yeah… I mean, his looks… The dark hair, the curls..."

"I don't see what you're getting at…"

"Imagine him in a coat."

She frowned, "You mean he does look like Sherlock? I don't know…"

"No, because you know him." Jim sighed, "In distress, a person will always remember things that stand out about an attacker. Special characteristics. If Sebastian was to attack somebody, people will remember the cracked tooth. Nothing else, because there's nothing special about him. Now, what do you think a small girl, crying, will remember? A tall man, dark hair, swishing coat… the things that stand out about Sherlock. And she will recognize them. If Sebastian poses as Sherlock, in a long coat, with his hair like that, these are the features she will look for, and she will see them when she looks at the actual Sherlock."

Sorcha thought about it for a second, and then said, "This is brilliant."

"Isn't it?" Jim smiled. "And it will work, of that I am sure." He licked his lips. "Matthew is dead."

"What? When?"

"Your brother caught him today. He walked into the café when I was sitting there with Kitty. Sebastian immediately reacted. I got a look at Matthew while Sebastian tortured him." He chuckled. "He will never hurt us again."

"Us?"

He nodded, "I can see you are hurt, too. But don't worry. I'll let him know who you are, and what we do… I guess I can be happy that Sebastian didn't decide to torture me a bit, too…"

"I am not yet done, James." Sebastian had entered the flat without making any noise. He threw something at Jim. "There you go. Thought you might like to have them."

Jim looked into the plastic bag and grinned, "Beautiful. You know how to make a man feel special."

"What's in the bag?" Sorcha peeked. "Oh gosh, that is disgusting. But yeah, very symbolic." She paused, "Did he scream?"

"All the way through it. Do you think I am an amateur? Now, boss, where is my whiskey?" Jim motioned to the table. "Ah, delicious… Okay, so, before you called me today, I made some research. Parents will be picking their children up from school next weekend. I think that's the moment to strike. Nobody will notice me."

Jim nodded, "Then that's the moment. I trust you with this, Seb. For God's Sakes, don't kidnap the wrong children." He went to his desk and rummaged through the drawers. "Here, Seb, take this. This is a map."

"Yeah, thanks, I know those things."

"This is the place where I want you to bring the children. However, I want you to go there before. Take a nice long walk there, it's a beautiful area."

"Why would I do that?"

Jim smiled, "I want to make sure Sherlock finds those kids. This is why I need you to leave evidence. A print of your shoe and some questioning around in his homeless network will give him everything he need."

Sebastian nodded slowly, "So, you don't want the children to die?"

"Of course not, I'm not a monster. I am sure Sherlock will find them before they die from the poison." Jim closed the drawer again, "Anything else?"

"Yeah…" Sorcha coughed. "I found something in Mycroft's papers. I'm sure it's only a matter of time until Mycroft will tell his brother." She handed Jim some papers. "Apparently, your little 'Get Sherlock' painting has attracted some… dodgy people."

Jim went over her notes, "Sounds like a ball… The Albanians, the Russkies…. I don't know this guy, what is he, Polish? Oh, and the Bolivians. Seems you got competition, Sebbie dearest…"

Sebastian frowned and glanced at the paper Jim was holding out to him, "Jaume Gauss… Nah. He might be Bolivia's best sniper, but he got nothing on me. Don't worry."

"Oh, I don't worry. I just hope those guys know that they are not supposed to kill Sherlock… Somebody might want to tell them…"

"I do…" Sebastian offered. "Is there anything else we need to know about that plan of yours?"

"No. Just make sure you don't show your face. I want the children to remember all the right things about you: your height, your hair, your coat."

"I don't own a coat." Then it suddenly dawned on Sebastian. "Whoa, wait a sec. You want me to look like Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"Oh come on, Jim, you can't be serious. I don't wanna look like him!"

"And since when exactly do you get what you want?" Jim got up. "I had the coat delivered to your flat. I will count on you to follow my orders, Sebastian. And please, do take a picture of yourself. You will look absolutely stunning. And now, excuse me, I have to pack a few things."

Sorcha and Sebastian were immediately alarmed, and Sebastian asked, "Where are you going this time? Guantanamo?"

"Don't be silly. I will move in with Kitty Reilly. She offered me to crash at her place for as long as I share my story."

"You move in with a woman…." Sorcha felt as if she was biting on glass shreds when she uttered that sentence.

Jim nodded, "Yeah. Any problems with that?"

_I could have looked for a male journalist, but no, I had to choose her… _"Of course not, sir."

"Good. I'll be in my room, then."

As he had left the study, Sebastian turned to his sister, "So, you're gonna ship her to Karachi, too?"

"No… she's just a pawn in his game…"

"So was Adler."

"Yeah, but she was… smart. And special."

Sebastian nodded again. Then he said, "You know… it might be possible Jim will lose. Against Sherlock…. And I hope I am mistaken, but… it's going to be a matter of life or death…"

"I know…" She bit her lip. "Which is why you have to do everything he says. Please, Sebastian…"

"Shhh…" He laid an arm around her shoulder, "Of course. I will do everything he tells me. And if bad comes to worse, I will shoot both Holmes brothers and every single person on this planet that has ever laid eyes upon one of them. That good enough for you, sister?"

"Of course. What can happen to him with you on his side?" She smiled a bit. "I never actually thanked you. For what you did to find him. I'm sorry I landed you in jail."

"Don't worry. It's what brothers do for their little sisters and their little sisters' lunatic crushes." He planted a kiss on her forehead. "What do you say, we leave the madman to himself, and you come home with me and take the picture of me in this stupid coat?"

"Oh please, I wouldn't miss that for the world…"

* * *

**The information on the assasins I have from Sherlock: The Casebook. I bought it, but I don't own it.**


	16. The night was heavy

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Title from Mike Oldfield's _Moonlight Shadow._  
**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: The night was heavy and the air was alive**

"'Are you ready for the story? This is the…' For God's sakes, Sebastian, will you stop laughing?" Jim rolled his eyes as his sniper broke into giggles for the fifth time since they had started. "I don't know what is so funny about that?"

"Where do I start? First, the fact that you are sitting here reading a story to children. Then, the way you're dressed, like you couldn't hurt a fly. Matches beautifully with that creepy smile of yours, by the way. And then the story. I'm sorry, but…" Sebastian bit his lip. "It's just too darn funny."

"Yeah, well, I cannot read children's stories in my Armani now, can I?" Jim growled. "And besides, what is so wrong about the picture. I'm Richard Brook, remember? It's Richard Brook reading the stories, not Jim Moriarty."

"Well, I gotta tell you, as soon as you smile… hell, as soon as you open your mouth and speak, it's Jim Moriarty I hear and see. No offense, but you can smile all you want, you're still a creep."

"Why would I be offended?" Jim put the book down and took a sip from his coffee. "Besides, it's not like I am gonna show this to actual children."

"But…"

"Sherlock."

"Of course. And how? Are you gonna stop by his flat, 'Look, Sherlock, my newest blockbuster. You might recognize the protagonist.'?"

"Of course not. I will play it in the taxi."

"Taxi?"

"Yeah. Your sister is following Sherlock 24/7. As soon as she tells me he's leaving Scotland Yard, after he finds the children, I will pick him up."

"In a taxi?"

"Yes, in a taxi. And then I will show him the video. This is going to be fun."

Sebastian still had no idea what Jim wanted to achieve with this part of his plan, but he had learned along the way not to question Jim's ideas. "Okay, okay. Yeah, I can guess that in the middle of the night, this video could creep even Sherlock Holmes out. Do you think he will find the children soon?"

"I am pretty much convinced, which is why we need to get this video done."

Sebastian took a deep breath, "Okay. I promise I won't laugh anymore. I promise I will find it completely normal that you read fairy tales to children. Come on, pick up that book. Time is money in showbiz."

* * *

Jim, dressed in Sebastian's finest leather jacket and a cap, had checked the TV screen in the cab five times. Once Sebastian had concentrated, it had taken them only two takes to get the video done. Jim had spent two more hours working on the background to set the mood right while he was reading the story, and then he had parked his cab around the corner of Scotland Yard, so that as soon as Sorcha texted him that Sherlock was leaving, he could drive and be sure he would be the cabbie to pick Sherlock up. Gloria, whom he had ordered to watch the sweet factory, had called him earlier to tell him that Sherlock had in fact found the children. _Good. Fits perfectly into my plan._ Everything was working out fine. The only variable in his plan was the Scotland Yard team. He counted on Anderson and Donovan to raise suspicions in Lestrade's mind. But even if police still believed Sherlock now, as soon as Kitty's article was published, they would start doubting him as well. It was all a matter of time.

And then Sorcha's text came. _Sherlock has left the building. Take care. Sorcha._

Jim smiled. Now the game was on.

* * *

After Sherlock had jumped out of the cab, Jim drove away, back to Scotland Yard to pick Sorcha up. "Get in."

"Did it work?"

"It was brilliant; you should have seen his face."

"Good. Where are we going now?"

"Baker Street. I want to see if police are coming. Could you see anything that happened?"

"Not much, but I saw Donovan and Anderson in Lestrade's office. And it wasn't a tea party." Sorcha snatched the cap from Jim's head and put it on, "That looks good. I think your plan might actually work out."

"Good. I was hoping Donovan and Anderson would doubt Sherlock. Let's hope…" He paused as he drove around the corner. " Look at that… Police are already there. That's Lestrade's car. Did he leave at some point?"

"Now that you mention it, yeah… Park the car somewhere, I'll go out and check…" She came back after five minutes. "The Albanian is dead. Shot."

"Really…" Jim scratched his head. "Where did I send Sebastian to?"

"He should be around here somewhere."

Jim reached for his mobile phone, _The dead Albanian your work? –JM_

_No. He saved Sherlock from getting run over by a car after he jumped out of your cab. I guess the Bolivian shot him. –SM_

Jim rolled his eyes, "They really believe Sherlock got the code. Now they are killing each other off. That was not the plan… That's what happens when you neglect all the cells you're working with." He sighed, "Well, not much to do anymore here. I'll go home and change, and then I'm off to Kitty's. Her article is in the papers now. I have seen them lying around. Sherlock will stumble on them soon."

"Do you think he's going to check on Kitty? She gave him her card. It has her address on it."

Jim frowned, "Possible. But well, what can he do with her?"

"I don't really care what he can do with her; I am worried what he will do to you when he finds you there, he and John."

"She's a witness. He won't harm me when she's there. And who says John will still believe him?"

Sorcha smiled, "Well, I do. Sherlock means a lot to John. Sebastian and I never left you, right?"

"And you believe John is as much in love with Sherlock as you are with me?"

She laughed, "Well, John is a _confirmed bachelor_, so probably yes. But honestly, John knows you, he has followed Sherlock's cases, and, more importantly, he knows him. If the whole city believes you, John won't. But anyways, I think you should have somebody watching Kitty's flat, just in case."

Jim nodded, "Okay. I'll text Gloria. And you go home now. Sebastian is in Baker Street, Gloria will be watching Kitty's… I don't have anything left to do for you, so you can as well go home and enjoy your evening."

"Okay. But if you need me…"

"I'll text you. Don't worry. Go home, take a nice bath… do what girls do." He leaned over and pecked her cheek. "I'll be fine, Sorcha."

"I hope."

* * *

Two hours later, Jim was walking to Kitty's, "Coffee. The greatest criminal on this whole fucking planet, and I pick up coffee for that joke of a journalist… _Yes, darling, of course I will pick up that coffee for you… no of course it doesn't bother me to go out now, I know a journalist needs lots of coffee, especially someone as good as you… _What a load of crap…" His mobile phone buzzed. He picked up, "Yes, Gloria? Really? They're there? At Kitty's? When did they arrive? And Kitty's not there yet… in handcuffs?" He laughed, "I hope to God Sebastian took a picture of that… Are you there with your car? Brilliant. Tell me when Kitty gets home. Bye."

He put his phone back in his pocket and grinned; so, Sherlock had done exactly what Sorcha had predicted. Go to Kitty's. He would give them some time alone, where she could tell them what she know, and then he would walk in and making a show they would never forget.

He pulled his phone back out. _Bastian, is there a picture you'd like to send me? –JM_

_Sorry, I pulled a muscle when I saw it… had to recover [sending image]. –SM_

Jim frowned and called Sebastian, "How did John end up in handcuffs?"

"Apparently he hit the Chief Constable. Guy walked past me bleeding from his nose."

"And then they took off?"

"Yeah, like Bonnie and Clyde. Or Clyde and Clyde, rather. Very romantic. What are you up to?"

"Sherlock and John are at Kitty's. I'll barge in there, soon."

"Sure it's safe?"

"Yeah, Gloria is there. And they won't harm me in Kitty's presence. Don't worry. And don't tell Sorcha."

"Of course I won't. I see you around, then?"

"Yeah, I'll call you…"

* * *

Gloria waited patiently. She had already switched her high heels for comfortable sneakers, and was now watching the house. She saw Jim approaching, shopping bag in his hand. He looked around. Gloria flashed the lights once. She saw him smiling and nodding before he opened the front door.

Not even five minutes later, she saw Jim jumping from a window, and started the car. Jim dashed to the passenger door, opened it and jumped in, "Go go go!" Then he closed the door, leaned back in the seat and breathed heavily.

Gloria glanced at him, "Everything alright?"

"Brilliant. Almost as good as can be…" He tilted his head back, a big smile on his face. "You should have seen his face, Gloria… I think I saw admiration at first… and then desperation…." He laughed. "He actually wanted to punch me. Not even the Iceman wanted to punch me."

"And you laugh about almost being punched. You're crazy, darling." Gloria shook her head. "Where shall I drive you to, home?"

Jim thought about it, "No… no, not home…" He looked out of the window. "It will end soon, Gloria. I think it's time to say good-bye to some people… just in case."

"You think you will… not come back?"

He sighed, "I don't know, but I want to be prepared." He took a deep breath, "Can you drive me to Sorcha's, please?"

"Of course." Gloria seemed please, at least a bit, "If you plan on dying anyways, what will you tell her? What she wants to hear?"

Jim shook his head, "No. That would be disrespectful. What, I tell her I love you, and then I go and get killed? And what if I don't? I come back and say, 'Oh, sorry, I lied to you'. No, I can't do either of this to her."

"You can't die on her, either. Or on Sebastian."

"Sebastian won't be too sad to see me gone."

"That's what you think. You know, James, I spend a lot of time with Sebastian. He really cares for you. He will suffer. You saved his life."

"And he saved mine, many times."

Gloria nodded, "I will miss you, too, you know."

Jim turned to Gloria, "And I will miss you. Without you…" He chuckled. "Without you I would have fallen prey to the first psychopath who paid me for sex. I owe you a lot, Gloria."

"And I owe you a lot, Jim. I would have been stuck in Dublin if it weren't for you." She sniffed a bit. "This is literally the first time I'm in tears since my wife left me. Please, try and survive once again."

"I will do my best to survive, Gloria." Before he had properly finished his sentence, Gloria had him enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. He reciprocated, shyly, before he freed himself from the grip. "Thank you for everything, Gloria."

"You're welcome, darling…" She breathed in. "Any last instructions?"

"Just one: take care of my girls." His prostitutes. "I would hate it if somebody took over and mistreated them."

"That won't happen, James." She saluted. "Good-bye, Jim Moriarty."

"Good-bye, lovely lady." He got out of the car and slammed the door shut.

The first good-bye was done.

Because deep inside, James Moriarty knew he would never see Gloria again.

* * *

**Yeah, it's time for the final good-bye's now. As you can see, we're nearing the end. Two more chapters and the epilogue. I would love to get a review once in a while, though...**


	17. Kiss me hard before you go

**Thank you for the reviews, ladies and gents :) I'm happy some people really like this story.  
**

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Title is from Lana Del Rey's _Summertime Sadness_  
**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Kiss me hard before you go**

Sorcha was just getting out of her nice bubble bath when the doorbell rang. She frowned and opened, "Jim? Did anything happen?"

Jim grinned, "You're just wearing a towel."

"Yeah, I took a bath and was all girly. What are you doing here, I thought you'd spend the night at Kitty's?"

"Yeah, but I am changeable. And Sherlock and John were there. Just as you predicted. But don't worry; I jumped out the window. I always wanted to do that."

"Jump out of a window?" Sorcha cocked her eyebrow.

"Yeah. Don't teenagers do that when the girlfriend's parents suddenly come home early from dinner?"

"Well, I don't know, but considering all those times I jumped from the couch when Sebastian came home early… I'd say it's possible." She smiled, "And now, what are your plans for tonight?"

"Just hanging around... And I thought I could as well do that here." _And say good-bye to you, too. _"You got something to eat here, or shall we order something?"

"I've got nothing here, no…" Her phone beeped. "Wait a second…" She read the text. "Mh. From Monica." Monica was one of Jim's prostitutes.

"Some client who's making trouble?"

"No, not exactly…" She blushed, "I hope you don't mind… I asked some of the girls to watch some things… some people…"

Jim grinned, "Why would I mind? Can't know enough about the city… So, where did you send Monica?"

"_Diogenes Club_. And she just texted me that John went there."

"To see Mycroft, no doubt." Jim scratched his head. "I sorely underestimated John, I see."

"What could he want at _Diogenes Club?_ It's not like Mycroft is such good company that you want to spend more than five minutes with him… although I guess the no-talking-rule in the club helps." She looked at Jim, "No, don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I should totally know what John wants there."

"You should." Jim was amused. "Come on, it's easy. How many people do you think know all these things about Sherlock? The things Kitty says in her article?"

"I don't know. Four, probably. You, Kitty, John and Mycroft."

"Without Kitty and me, that makes two, John and Mycroft. John didn't talk to 'Richard Brook', which leaves Mycroft. And now that John knows I am Richard Brook, since obviously he doesn't believe Richard Brook is Moriarty… he knows I got my information from Mycroft. John really is smarter than I thought…. Are you following?"

"Yeah… so John knows Mycroft had you..."

"Yeah. I guess that will damage their relationship as well, Mycroft giving me all those little details." Jim grinned, "I love intelligent people."

"Yeah, I know that. That's why you love to play with Sherlock." Sorcha rolled her eyes. "I'll go and get dressed, and then I'll order us some food. Italian okay?"

"Or, you don't get dressed and then I'll order you around." He looked at her, his eyes somehow glassy. "Your brother is still watching Sherlock. Sherlock surely will not come here, which means we have all the time in the world to get naughty in all the rooms of your flat."

"Is that really the only thing on your mind lately? Sex and Sherlock?" She grinned. "I guess I'll have to be happy you don't have me dress up in Sebastian's new coat."

"Not when the alternative is your naked body… Come on, Sorcha, be nice and do as I say." He approached her. "Not many people have the guts to oppose me."

"I would be crazy to oppose you, then..."

* * *

It was his phone beeping that woke him up. Jim, still half asleep, cradling Sorcha in his arm, reached for it.

_Come and play. Bart's Hospital rooftop. SH. _

_PS. Got something of yours you might want back._

The corners of Jim's mouth twitched upwards. His key code. Finally the git had found out where Jim had left it. Sherlock's head. No better place to leave something you don't want to forget. He laid the phone back on the table and turned to Sorcha. Her long hair was spread over his chest, her face rested in his armpit. _What do I do with you, now?_ If she had ordered Gloria's girls around to watch all the important places and even thought of _Diogenes Club_ (which Jim, he had to admit, had completely forgotten about), she surely had somebody stationed at St Bart's… he reached out for her phone which was lying next to his.

_[Text from Ana] Sorcha, Sherlock is at St. Bart's._

She was meticulous, indeed. He put the phone down again. Certainly Ana wasn't the only one around the hospital. There had to be more. And one of them would surely tell Sorcha if Jim arrived there. And then she would probably pull a stunt similarly to the one she had pulled at the pool and ruin this. She had to go.

He grabbed her hair, pulled her head up, and kissed her cheek, "Sorcha?"

She moaned, "No. No. Don't wanna get up."

"You need to. James Moriarty wants breakfast."

She slowly opened her eyes, "Of course. You never eat breakfast, I can barely make you eat lunch, but now that I, for the first time in ages, get to wake up in your arms, you're suddenly hungry."

He grinned, "Let's just say that, with what we did this night, I have every right to be hungry. And if you want me to repeat it, I will need some carbs."

She didn't say anything for a few seconds, but then got up, "Anything you want. If you're going to repeat that, I will fucking prepare you a banquet." She didn't even bother putting something on, but immediately dashed to her kitchen.

Jim bit his lip. She was in his service for twenty years, and that was how he thanked her in the end. He got out of bed too, and walked to the bathroom. He had, after last time where she had forced him to crash at his place, brought over a bag with some spare clothes, a loaded gun, and some other things he needed every now and then. Among those things was a little bottle with chloroform. He brought it out, and then looked for a handkerchief. When he had found it, he poured some of the liquid on it. He closed his fist over the hankie and walked to the kitchen where Sorcha was just cutting bacon into thin slices.

She smiled, "You're looking good, naked like that."

"So do you… Go on, I am hungry. And I know you are, too…" She nodded and turned back to the bacon. Jim walked up on her. One of his arms he laid around her waist before he started kissing her neck. She closed her eyes and put the knife down. Jim took a deep breath, then raised his hand with the handkerchief and put it over Sorcha's mouth and nose. She immediately started struggling heavily, but Jim held her close to his chest, trying to ignore the faint stabs to his heart as Sorcha's efforts gradually became weaker. It only lasted for a minute.

He threw the handkerchief to the floor, picked her up, and carried her back to the bed. There, he took his time and started to dress her. He licked his lips, "I know that wasn't very nice of me. Knocking you out like that. But you would have come and ruined everything. I want this, Sorcha. So badly. I want to beat him. People like him and me… we're meant for each other. Like Harry Potter and Voldemort, Frodo and Gollum, the Bride and Bill… I cannot go on with him being alive; I need to beat him, so I know I am really and truly the best. To prove wrong the people that didn't believe in me, Like Carl or Brook. Listen, I know that there's a possibility I will not come back tomorrow." He breathed out as he did the zipper on her skirt. "I am sorry I had to do this. You actually deserve a proper good-bye, and the only thing I do is talking to you while you are unconscious." He buttoned her blouse. "I'm sorry I never once gave you what you wanted. I mean, I did tell you from the beginning on, that I won't ever love you, but, let's face it, you're delusional and probably still believed it would happen..." He put her in the recovery position, knowing she always got sick from chloroform. "I just wanted you to know that... I appreciate what you did for me during all those years… You're a brilliant woman, Sorcha. And I hope that, if I don't come back, you will finally find somebody worthy of your feelings." He leaned in and pecked her cheek. "Good-bye, Miss Moran. Thank you for your loyalty."

Then he got up, reached for his phone, and dialled a number, "Sebastian? Can you come pick me up at your sister's flat? I need to go to St. Bart's."


	18. And I threw us into the flames

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Title taken from Adele's _Set fire to the rain_  
**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: And I threw us into the flames**

Sebastian was at Sorcha's flat half an hour later, "What were you doing here?"

"Do you really want to know?" Jim smirked.

"When you smile like this, no, I really don't want to know... Where is Sorcha?"

"Upstairs. I tied her to the bed with zip ties and gagged her with my boxers. But don't worry, with all the cuts, she might bleed out before she starves to death. You don't have Alice Cooper's _Poison_ on your IPod, by any chance?"

"No, I don't. When you say such things, how am I supposed to know when you've gone crazy for real? So, why are we going to St. Bart's?"

"Sherlock is waiting for me."

Sebastian nodded slowly, "I see. How prepared are we?"

"That depends entirely on the content of your boot."

"Enough ammo to off the whole government."

"Then we are well prepared." Jim smiled. "And since you are a good soldier, I'm sure you know the area."

"Of course."

"And a place to observe the roof?"

"Yeah, of course. What do you want me to do, boss?"

"First of all, if Sherlock doesn't do what I want him to do, I want you to make sure Watson, Mrs Hudson and DI Lestrade die. I have three gunmen ready, one of them at St. Bart's, but I want you there, too. You're the only one I trust… in case something goes wrong."

Sebastian grinned, "Oh, so you _are _aware something _could_ go wrong! Then tell me, what are your plans in that case."

"Sherlock was the one who asked me to come to St. Bart's. So there is a possibility it might be a trap. I'm not afraid to die, but… in case you see some government officials there… will you shoot me?"

"Of course, James." Sebastian didn't even wonder about that order. It was the most logical thing to do. "Why don't you trust the others with that order?"

"Trust a bunch of criminals with rifles to shoot me only in a worst case scenario? Yeah, right." Jim chuckled. "Nah, my friend, this is something I will lay only in your capable hands."

"I feel honoured. Now, what do you want Sherlock to do? So I know when to shoot Watson?"

"I want Sherlock to jump. Off the roof. If he doesn't jump, you, or the Bolivian, shoot Watson."

"Alright. Is there any recall code? Like, if Sherlock doesn't jump and we're still supposed to pack our guns away?"

"Yeah. I don't think that scenario will arise, though." He breathed out. "This is only in case he tries something around you guys, you, your sister or Gloria."

"So, you are willing to give up and let yourself be beaten by Sherlock…"

"Yes, if one of you is in danger." Jim turned his head to look out of the window. "I will not let anyone of you go through what I have suffered. If I find out that Mycroft is on this, and that one of you three isn't safe if I have you shoot up Watson, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson, I will give up."

"Okay…" Sebastian was not a little surprised. "And what's that code, then?"

"100001503253…"

"Oh come on, Jim, you gotta be kidding me. Can't you do something, I don't know… easy? Like, quote Shakespeare or something?"

"Okay, then give me a nice quote." Jim shrugged. "I really don't think the need will arise, but since you'll never know, and I really don't want you to mess up just because you cannot remember a line of twenty simple numbers… Come on, show you've learned something in school… _When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning or in rain?_"(1)

"_When the hurlyburly's done, when the battle's lost and won…(1)" _Sebastian chuckled. "Very fitting… Will we three meet again, then?"

Jim swallowed, "_For you and I are past our dancing days…_ (2) No, of course, we will meet again, Sebastian. Someday, maybe… Okay, if you so desperately want a Shakespeare quote… The moment I text you _Parting is such sweet sorrow (2)_, I want you to pack your bags and run, without shooting Watson." He pulled out his phone and send the code to the other killers. "I hope they'll understand that." Then he deleted the message from his sent messages.

Sebastian parked the car, "It would probably be best if Holmes didn't know about that code. He would try and get it out of you."

Jim leaned back in the seat, "And what could he possibly do to me that hasn't been done to me in the past? It's not like there's much left to do, even for Sherlock Holmes."

"Every person has a pressure point, James. Just because you haven't reached yours yet doesn't mean you don't have one. You are a human being. A brilliant one, yes. But still, human. And there's only so much pain a human being can face." Sebastian looked out of the window. "I can tell."

Jim turned his head to watch his sniper, "You're thinking of… your stay with the Taliban?" As Sebastian nodded, he said, "You never told me what they did to you."

"Not a bed time story. But you've seen me work. I guess that should give you a pretty good idea…" Sebastian licked his lips, "James, I would be dead if it weren't for you. They would have tortured me to death. I… I feel bad letting you go up there all on your own. You don't know what he has… Shite, Watson!"

Both men immediately ducked when Watson, not even giving a second glance to Sebastian's SUV, rushed past the car in a hurry and hailed a cab.

Only when they heard the car speeding away, Sebastian sat upright again, "What the fuck got into him? Hedgehog on speed…"

Jim grinned, "You're not seriously asking me what got into him?"

"I am. Sorry I'm not as brilliant as you are."

"Sherlock obviously said or did something to get Watson out of the firing line. Smart bloke."

"Shall I follow him?"

"No, I doubt he will stay away for long. As soon as he catches up on Sherlock's plan, he will come back. Where will you be?"

Sebastian pointed at the roof of the building opposite St. Bart's. "Perfect place. I can see the whole roof and the four top floors of every building in shooting distance. Almost no wind today, which will make it all the easier for me if I… if I have to shoot you…. At least from the professional point of view." He scratched his head, "What am I going to tell Sorcha if you die by my bullet?"

"That the alternative would have been just too much to handle." Jim opened the car door, got out, and straightened his suit. "I guess I should go now."

"Give me five minutes. I'll go up to my spot and check your roof for you." Sebastian went to the boot and pulled his bag out. "I guess… this is good-bye, then?"

"I guess so…" Jim ran his hand over his hair. "Sebastian… Thank you. For everything. You say I saved your life, but remember: you saved mine to. Without you, I would have died by Cinzia's bullet. And all those other times some thugs would have had a go at me if you hadn't been there. I owe you so much I cannot put it into words…"

"Then don't try. _'Twere profanation of our joys to tell the laity our love._" (3)

Jim chuckled, "True that."

Sebastian shouldered his bag and saluted, "Good-bye, James Moriarty."

Jim returned the salute, "Thank you for your service, Colonel Moran." Then he watched his sniper turn away, making his way to the building, ready to obey Jim's last ever order.

* * *

When Sebastian arrived on the roof, he immediately checked the windows of the adjacent buildings. If Mycroft Holmes was on this, this was where he would hide his people. There weren't many windows that allowed a clear shot on the roof, and those that did were, as of now empty. So were the other roofs. The roof of the hospital was empty too. Sebastian licked his lips. He couldn't believe it. Sherlock Holmes would never walk up there without backup. This had to be a trap. But then, suddenly, he shook his head. No. Not necessarily. Sebastian was a soldier, but there were also moments where he would walk into a fire with no chance of escaping without a backup plan. If his loved ones were involved. And Sherlock was not an idiot. He probably knew that Jim wouldn't just leave it, so, if he didn't do what Jim wanted, Jim would take it out on Sherlock's loved ones. That was why Sherlock had tricked Watson away. He knew he would die, and didn't want to drag anyone else down. Except for maybe Jim. Sebastian knew that, were he in Sherlock's place, he would do the same thing. Go up on that roof without back-up, die an honourable death, and thereby protect the people he cared for.

The roof was safe.

Sebastian texted Jim. _Everything clear. May the odds be ever in your favour, boss. (4) –SM_

_You're here, there's nothing I fear.(5) –JM_

Sebastian frowned, put the phone away and started putting up his rifle. His hands were shaking.

* * *

The shaking stopped the moment Sherlock Holmes stepped on the roof. Sebastian never once left him out of his crosshair, while at the same time listening for any noise that didn't belong, and watching the windows again.

But Sherlock Holmes had come without backup. He had come alone. Alone to face James Moriarty.

Sebastian watched as the two men pranced and danced around each other. He saw Jim's outburst and chuckled; apparently Sherlock wasn't as clever as he thought in the end. Nothing else could get Jim so wound up but people being stupid.

And then, Sebastian's heart stopped. Sherlock had made a move, and now Jim was dangling over the edge of the roof, his enemy's hands the only thing between him and the pavement.

And Jim didn't even fight. It was as if he didn't care. As if the fate of falling down that roof didn't bother him in the slightest.

A total distaste of life. Jim was not afraid of dying. He just didn't care.

But then Sherlock pulled him back.

And then Sherlock stepped on the edge. And Sebastian's heart skipped a beat. He would jump. He would really jump off that roof. Die in disgrace, as Jim had planned it all along. Sebastian didn't notice he was smiling. Soon it would be over. They would celebrate tonight. The end of Sherlock Holmes. The man stood on the edge… and then hopped off. Back onto the roof. _What the fuck… _Sebastian brought his binoculars out. He could see Sherlock circling around Jim…

…and then something happened. Later on Sebastian wouldn't be able to describe it anymore. But he saw it in Jim's face. Saw that Jim's plan had failed. And Jim knew it.

And suddenly, it dawned on Sebastian. Jim would not make it off the roof alive. True, he had considered it, because it was his job to consider all possibilities. But this was Jim Moriarty, and he was the most brilliant man on this planet.

And now? Now Jim was about to die. Because his plan had failed. Jim knew it. The look on his face, the way he held himself… he knew he had lost. And losing, in this case, meant… Mycroft Holmes.

Sebastian ran. He ran down the stairs of the building he had chosen, his heart thumping in his chest. Ten more flights of stairs…. Eight… Six…. He saw spots. As he finally reached the ground floor, his vision was full of black and white spots, dancing before his eyes, merengue and salsa and whatnot. His throat ached, the chipped tooth ached from the cold air he had pushed into his lungs… He opened the door, ready to jump over any car that would get in his way.

And then he heard it. The gun shot.

And had it been a gun to his own heart, the pain would have been the same.

And then he saw the cab with Watson. He saw Sherlock on the edge of the building. Over his own heart, thumping loud in his ears, he heard Watson on the phone, talking to Sherlock.

And then Sherlock jumped. Sebastian hear the loud thud, the sound of bones smashed into pieces as the flesh covering them hit the ground.

Sherlock Holmes was dead.

But where did that leave James Moriarty?

Sebastian ran. Again. This time, up the stairs. Second Floor. Sixth floor. Seventeenth floor. The door.

He smashed it open.

There was nothing. No body. Jim was gone.

All that was left was the blood.

Sebastian kneeled next to the pool. Blood, thick blood. Bone splinters. Brain matter. Jim Moriarty's brilliant brain blown to bits.

Sebastian acted on autopilot. He went to the edge of the building. A crowd had gathered, but Sherlock's body had already been wheeled away. Sebastian saw Watson, standing there, watching, staring into nothingness. Right now, John Watson was probably the loneliest man in the world.

Sebastian he had to leave. Soon police would show up here. Something inside him told him that he was being watched. Watched by whoever had taken Jim's body. But they didn't make a move on him. And Sebastian, for the first time ever in his life, didn't feel like a fight. It felt like giving up on Jim, not even trying to find his remains, but… he couldn't bare himself to look at the broken body of the man who had meant so much more than life to Sebastian Moran.

He left without looking back.

* * *

(1) Macbeth – William Shakespeare

(2) Romeo and Juliet- William Shakespeare

(3) A Valediction – Forbidding Mourning – John Donne

(4) The Hunger Games

(5) My heart will go on – Celine Dion

* * *

**So, this was the last chapter. But of course, there is an epilogue to come. **


	19. I watched your vision forming

**Here we go, the Epilogue:  
**

**Disclaimer: see prologue. Title from Mike Oldfield's _Moonlight Shadow_.  
**

* * *

**Epilogue: I watched your vision forming**

Sorcha worked for hours and hours to find the surveillance tapes. But, moments after Jim had opened the door to the roof, the cameras all blacked out. Nothing of the exchange had been taped. Nothing told them what had happened to Jim's body.

A week later, on the day before Sherlock's funeral, Sorcha and Sebastian sat in Jim's office on the floor, sharing a bottle of red wine between themselves. It was their own little goodbye to their boss, their own little wake to mourn over James Moriarty.

Sorcha had just take a sip when she said, "I'm leaving tomorrow."

Sebastian nodded, "Where are you going?"

"I don't know. Somewhere far away from London. Maybe Cuba? Mexico? The U.S.? Somewhere. I don't wanna stay in England. What are you going to do?"

Sebastian shrugged, "I don't know. Keep the empire running as good as I can, I guess. Jim's legacy. I will try my best so his work was not in vain. I could use your help, though."

"No. I don't wanna deal with this. All these scumbags, thinking they were equal when they weren't worth licking the dirt off his shoes. The empire can go down for all I care."

"I understand. I… can do it alone, I think." Sebastian reached for the bottle. "I'm going to the funeral tomorrow."

"Why?"

"I want to see Watson grieve. I want to know we are not alone."

"We are alone, Bastian. Nobody but us and Gloria is grieving for Jim."

"Well, I'll go anyways. If only to… see the stone and convince myself it's all true."

* * *

Sorcha was gone when Sebastian woke up. She had left him a mobile phone number where he could call should the need arise, but had left both her HTC and her emergency phone behind. She had taken nothing else. Leaving behind everything. If she could, good for her. But Sebastian couldn't.

So later that day, he hid behind a tree at the cemetery and watch as John Watson poured his heart out to the cold stone that marked Sherlock Holmes' grave. He felt with the man, although he couldn't help but despise him. So, when Watson was finally done, he noticed with sick delight that he was limping again, slightly.

He was just about to leave his hiding place when he saw it. Or, _him_. Sherlock Holmes, walking over to his own gravestone. He looked sad, probably affected by all those things Watson had just said. His look was absent as he ran his hand over the stone, just like Watson had done.

Sebastian didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to feel. Sherlock Holmes was alive. Somehow, Sherlock Holmes had cheated death. Death, and the Devil himself. Jim had died to assure Sherlock would, too. And now here was Sherlock, walking and prancing, while Jim was… hell, gone. No, this couldn't be true, this just could not be true. Sebastian noticed his heart beat was accelerating, and his trigger finger itched. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill that fucking bastard for taking Jim from them. Had he a gun with him, the man would drop down dead now. But he had gone out completely unarmed.

Well, he was a soldier, and he could wait. Wait until the time was right.

So he waited until Sherlock had left the cemetery, and followed him. He wanted to know where he went, so that he could strike at any given moment. Jim had been obsessed with bringing Sherlock down; now, Sebastian would take over. The legacy.

And he would not rest until Sherlock Holmes drew his last breath.

And he would make John Watson watch again.

What Sebastian Moran didn't know was that he was being watched.

* * *

**And done. **

**IlCapo, I have another fic planned. We'll see if I feel like publishing it... Thanks for your review, though.  
**

**I wanna thank each and everyone of you for reviewing and making me continue this. This is your story, guys.  
**

**Love and Respect,  
**

**Fergs  
**


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